From Under My Feet
by NutsandVolts
Summary: "I swore I would protect her at any cost, but I couldn't protect her when she was nearly killed at the Cornucopia. Later on, I couldn't protect her when she was collected by the Capitol. They took her from under my feet." What if Wiress survived the events of CF and was taken hostage with Peeta, Enobaria, and Johanna after the arena was infiltrated? Beetee's POV and slightly AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, everyone. As you know, I have recently diagnosed myself with a chronic case of writer's block. So, instead of just pushing through it, I decided to start yet _another _multi-chap. When I had writer's block for _Breaking Point_, I wrote _We're Not The Same_, which spawned a sequel, _Fire & Rain_, and when I developed writer's block for that, I wrote _Labels_, and now that I have writer's block for that, I'm writing _From Under My Feet_. See my problem? I wonder if there's some kind of rehab for people like me...**

**Anyway, this takes place during some of _Catching Fire _and _Mockingjay_. It's in Beetee's POV. :)**

**DISCLAIMER: If I owned the Hunger Games trilogy, Beeress would be canon and I wouldn't _have _to make this AU because Wiress never would have died. :P**

**Enjoy!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

* * *

_"I'm—so—scared," Wiress whispers, sobbing in my arms. _

_I push aside my own fears regarding the Quarter Quell announcement. "Don't be scared, Wiress," I murmur. "There's no need to be. Not when you have me. I'm going to protect you."_

_She peeks out from my shirt. "Really?"_

_The question is pointless. I would do anything for her, my love. Smiling, I gently brush my lips over her forehead. "Really, really."_

* * *

"Clean it, will you?"

I still haven't recovered from Enobaria's attack at the Cornucopia, but I have to look at the machine as a whole, not at the components. I'm still alive. My body isn't obeying me, but my mind is. I can still develop a plan to destroy to force field, and at any rate, Wiress will be more than willing to help me out. It's why she takes the wire, coated in blood from the blood-rain, from my hands, nods happily, and hurries to the water's edge. Once there, she begins singing an old, old lullaby, from before even my time. Though It makes me smile, Johanna Mason feels differently.

"Oh, not the song again," she complains with a dramatic roll of her wide-set eyes. "That went on for _hours _before she started tick-tocking."

Naturally, Wiress ignores this completely, but after a moment, she stands and points to the jungle in the distance. "Two," she says.

The arena for the Third Quarter Quell, in which victors are the tributes, is shaped like a clock with different traps triggered each hour. Wiress figured it out immediately, and now that the rest of our alliance is aware of it, we seem to be at an advantage. As Wiress points, Katniss Everdeen of District 12 turns to look in that direction and says, "Yes, look. Wiress is right. It's two o'clock and the fog has started."

Her district partner and lover, Peeta Mellark, seems amazed. Looking at Wiress, he says, "Like clockwork. You were very smart to figure that out, Wiress."

She resumes her song, smiling, but the patronizing tone in his voice is not one I like. I sit up a bit straighter and come to her defense. "Oh, she's more than smart. She's _intuitive._" Four pairs of eyes—Katniss, Peeta, Johanna, and Finnick Odair of Distirct 4—turn to me. "She can sense things before anyone else," I continue. I pause to think of a metaphor they will understand. "Like a canary in one of your coal mines."

"What's that?" Finnick asks.

"It's a bird," she explains, "that we take down into the mines to warn us if there's bad air."

As the eternal queen of subtlety, Johanna's next question is, of course, "What's it do, die?"

"It stops singing first," says Katniss. "That's when you should get out. But if the air's too bad, it dies, yes. And so do you."

Seeming uncomfortable, she follows Johanna to the mouth of the Cornucopia and adds to her stock of arrows. I continue surveying the other tributes: Wiress is still singing and cleaning my wire, Finnick is with Johanna and Katniss collecting more weapons, and Peeta is using his knife to sketch what I assume is a map of the Cornucopia on a large leaf. When Katniss joins him, he says, "Look how the Cornucopia's positioned."

"The tail points toward twelve o'clock," she murmurs.

"Right," he says, "so this is the top of our clock. Twelve to one is the lightning zone..." Still muttering, Peeta quickly adds in a few more sections.

After a moment, Katniss interjects, "And ten to eleven is the wave."

Upon hearing their conversation, Johanna and Finnick—both heavily armed—join them, and Katniss cranes her head to look at me still sitting by the Cornucopia. She extends her question out to me as well. "Did you notice anything unusual in the others?" she asks. When we shake our heads, she sighs. "I guess they could hold anything."

I remove my glasses to wipe off some of the condensation, and as nonchalantly glance up, I see it. Replacing my glasses to be sure, I narrow my eyes and confirm my hunch. Figures in the water approaching us rapidly. Muttations? Tributes? Either way, Wiress is right at the water's edge. She's in danger.

I can't protect her. I can only do one thing.

My throat is dry from the lack of water, so raising my voice is painful, but I nonetheless scream, "_Katniss!_"

Immediately, she whips around and her eyes lock on the shadow emerging from the water's edge. Gloss of District 1. These aren't muttations—this is an ambush.

Just as Gloss puts his hands on Wiress's shoulders, forces her to her feet, and holds his knife to her throat, Katniss sends an arrow flying into his skull. He collapses instantly, his dead body falling onto Wiress, and in a panic, she throws him off and scampers back toward the Cornucopia. Cashmere, also from 1, makes to go after her, but Johanna shoves an ax into her chest and Wiress makes it to safety. Despite the pain that shoots up my back, I follow her into the Cornucopia and find her lying on her side, curled in the fetal position with her hands clamped over her ears. "Wiress," I whisper, brushing a lock of hair away from her forehead.

Her eyes, wide and crazed with fear, search mine desperately and I simply put my arms around her, using my own body to shield her. Wiress clings to me while the battle continues outside, but suddenly, we're thrown to the opposite side of the Cornucopia.

"What—?!" Wiress can't even finish her cry; the Cornucopia continues spinning violently, sending Wiress and I ricocheting within it. Finally, we slam to a sudden stop.

Panting, I whisper, "Are you alright?"

Her eyes are still panicked looking, but from her position of lying beneath me, Wiress nods. "Think so," she murmurs.

I smile. "Good."

After placing a kiss between her eyes, I lean back on my heels and help her into a sitting position. Wiress holds out the clean wire in her hands and smiles. "Thank you."

"No, it's _you're welcome_," I correct gently, taking the wire.

She shakes her head, dark curls flying. "You...saved me. Thank you."

I don't want to take credit for this. Katniss saved her, not me. All I did was call Katniss's name. I should have done more. I promised to protect her, and I sent her to what could have been her demise...

As I struggle to word this in a way that won't send Wiress into a panic, she suddenly throws her arms around my neck. "I..."

She doesn't finish, but I already know what she wants to say. I place a hand between her shoulder blades and run my fingers down her spine, a tried and true method of keeping her calm. "I love you, too, Wiress."

Footsteps make us turn our heads and a wobbly Johanna snorts in disdain. "Ugh. Get a room, why don't you?" she snaps, leaning heavily against the Cornucopia.

With some effort, I rise and take Wiress by the hand. I keep hold of it even after we join the others, ignoring their pointed stares.

I nearly lost her once. There's no way I'm letting her go again.

* * *

**So, what do you think? Should I continue? Leave a review, please!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	2. Chapter 2

**Before I begin, I'd like to give a shout-out to **_Savysnape7_ **and **_MEKK _**for reviewing! I'd also like to thank **_EmeraldSafiaClove _**for favoriting! Thanks for the support! And as a reward, this chapter is longer! :D**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

* * *

When Wiress and I emerge hand-in-hand from the Cornucopia, we come upon an argument. It seems as though the rest of our alliance is confused as to what direction we need to take to reach the twelve o'clock beach.

"The tail points at twelve," Peeta insists, pointing at the Cornucopia.

"Before they spun us," says Finnick. "I was judging by the sun."

"The sun only tells you it's going on four, Finnick," Katniss reminds him.

Wiress's face contorts in concentration. I touch her cheek and regard her in askance; suddenly, her eyes fly open and she says, "You mean...consider...shift both rings."

Annoyed, Johanna looks at me. "Translation, please, Volts?"

I narrow my eyes slightly and squeeze Wiress's hand in reassurance. "Wiress believes that Katniss's theory is that knowing the time doesn't necessarily mean you know where four is on the clock, even if you have a general idea of the direction," I explain. "You have to consider that they may shifted the outer ring of the jungle as well."

Wiress smiles and looks at Katniss. "Right?"

Blinking, Katniss nods. "Yes, so any one of these paths could lead to twelve o'clock," she says.

The six of us observe the jungle, but it only adds to our mounting perplexity. A few ideas come up—Katniss suggests looking for the lightning tree, Johanna recommends we follow District 2's tracks—but further examination deems them both useless. "Any ideas?" I murmur to Wiress.

She shakes her head sadly.

"I should have never mentioned the clock," says Katniss, her voice heavy with contempt. "Now they've taken away that advantage as well."

Guiltily, Wiress looks away. I release her hand to slip an arm around her shoulders as she says, "Not..."

"Permanently," I finish. "At ten, we'll see the wave again and be back on track."

"Yes," Peeta agrees, "they can't redesign the whole arena."

"It doesn't matter. You had to tell us or we never would have moved our camp in the first place, brainless," Johanna snaps, folding her arms. She chooses a path at random and marches down it, yelling, "Come on, I need water."

Wiress is looking in the opposite direction, so I say, "Johanna, wait."

She looks back. "What?"

"Perhaps we should let Wiress pick," I say. "She did figure out the schematic for this entire arena, you know."

In disdain, Johanna shouts, "Over my dead—"

"Beetee's right," Katniss interrupts. "Wiress knows the arena better than any of us. We should let her decide." She turns to a beaming Wiress and says, "Which way do you think we should go?"

Wriggling out from under my arm, Wiress begins circling the Cornucopia, her brown eyes narrowed. "Just pick already!" says Johanna impatiently.

"Don't rush her," I say. "She needs time."

"She won't have much time if she doesn't pick a stinking path already!" she snaps back.

Finally, Wiress chooses a path and beckons us forward. We follow her without question, and soon, we reach the edge of the jungle. "Well, it must be monkey hour," says Peeta, "and I don't see any of them in there. I'm going to try to tap a tree."

Before he enters the jungle, Finnick says, "No, it's my turn."

"I'll at least watch your back," Peeta insists.

"Katniss can do that," says Johanna. "We need you to make another map. The other washed away."

Wiress approaches Katniss and Finnick, her eyes sparkling. "Do you want to come with us?" Katniss asks.

Happily, Wiress nods. Katniss looks at Finnick for his opinion. "Finnick?"

"Eh. She might as well learn how to do it," says Finnick with a shrug. He waves her forward. "Come on, Nuts."

Wiress, Katniss, and Finnick disappear into the jungle. I go over to where Peeta and Johanna are kneeling in the sand and sit by them to see if I can be of assistance. Irritably, Johanna ignores me; I suppose she's upset because of my claim that Wiress's intuition to be better than hers.

Peeta has just finished the map and says, "Well, this ought to be helpful," when we hear it. The scream. A loud, piercing, very _real _scream. It can't belong to a tribute—the voice belongs to a young girl. Another one quickly follows, and this one we all recognize. "_Prim!_"

"Katniss!" Peeta bellows. Dropping his knife, he darts into the jungle with another scream of, "_Katniss!_"

"Get back here!" Johanna yells, but Peeta is already gone. I follow him as quickly as I can—_what did I send Wiress into now?_

When I reach Peeta, already out of breath, I discover that we're trapped outside the jungle by some sort of transparent wall. I place my hand against it; it feels like marble, hard and smooth and slightly cool to the touch. When Peeta begins to hack at it with his knife, however, and when Johanna throws her ax at it, it remains intact. Peeta's blue eyes are bleak. I voice the thought in both of our minds. "They'll be trapped until the hour of five," I whisper hoarsely.

_Wiress_.

She, Finnick, and Katniss approach us soon enough. The latter two come first. Katniss hits the barrier shoulder-first and bounces back onto the jungle floor. Finnick runs straight into it and collapses beside her, his nose spurting blood. Wiress follows suit, pausing upon seeing the writhing bodies of Finnick and Katniss. She simply sinks to the ground and curls up between them in the same position she took in the Cornucopia. I frantically scour the area, and then I see the birds. I remember the scream of Prim Everdeen, Katniss's younger sister. And when I realize what the three of them are suffering through, it takes everything within me not to vomit.

Johanna glares at me when I turn to her. "Brilliant idea, Volts," she says. She lowers her voice to crudely mimic mine and says, "'Perhaps we should let Wiress pick. She did figure out the schematic for this entire arena, you know.'"

Though I've never considered myself a very violent person, Johanna's mockery of Wiress sends anger pulsing through my blood like poison. Seething, I take a few steps forward and hold out my hand to slap her, but Peeta grabs my wrist and shakes his head. I wrest my arm from his grip and kneel in front of the barrier, keeping my eyes on Wiress. What could she be hearing? Only one person she cares about is still alive—only one. Me. Is she hearing _my _voice in there? Has the sound of me in pain—though the screams are only simulated—drove her to a state where it's impossible for her to reason that she's only being tricked, that I'm right here and I'm safe? I try to speak to her, as Peeta tries to speak to Katniss, but the wall blocks out all sound both ways. All I can do is stare at her and wait.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, knowing she can't hear me. "I'm sorry, Wiress. I'm sorry for putting you through this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry..."

The words have lost their meaning by the time Peeta's hands are able to pass through the barrier. Then again, did they ever _have _much meaning? He hurries into the jungle and retrieves Katniss, picking her up like a rag doll and carrying her to the beach. Johanna follows with Finnick in tow. I tread over to Wiress and sit beside her, tracing the long length of her spine with my fingertips. "Wiress. Wiress, please get up. Wiress, love, I'm fine. So are you. Everything is alright."

I don't often use such terms of endearment and especially not in public, but I have to get through to her somehow. Finally, Wiress opens her eyes and looks up at me, those brown eyes haunted-looking. She isn't able to speak, but her lips form my name.

"It's alright," I tell her, smoothing her hair away from her face. "It's alright. I promise."

I can't carry her, though I'd like to, and instead simply hoist her to her feet and lead her to the beach. When I sit beside Johanna and Finnick, Wiress immediately collapses, curling up at my side and sobbing loudly into the front of my jumpsuit. Johanna narrows her eyes at the noise, but I ignore her completely and continue my attempts to soothe her. "Shh," I whisper. "Shh. Don't cry. It's alright. I promise."

Katniss either hears this or was told something similar by Peeta because her next words are, "You didn't hear them."

"I heard Prim," says Peeta. "Right at the beginning. But it wasn't her. It was a jabberjay."

"It was her," Katniss insists. "Somewhere. The jabberjay just recorded it."

"Wiress," I murmur into her hair, "who did you hear?"

Trembling, she inserts a finger into the hollow just below my sternum.

"Me?"

"Mm-hm." Her assent is coupled with a nod. I continue stroking her hair as I say, "Katniss, it couldn't have been Prim's voice."

She looks at me as if she's surprised that I'm here. "If Wiress heard mine," I explain, "and I wasn't tortured, it means Prim wasn't either. I'm not dead, so Prim can't be either."

"They could've done something different," she insists.

"No, they wouldn't have gone to so much trouble," says Peeta. "Besides, we're almost down to the final eight. And what happens then?"

"Seven more of us die," Katniss moans.

Though I know that most of us will survive these Games and be taken to District 13 after I destroy the force field, I can't repress a shiver at her words. I deliberately lower my lips into Wiress's hair again and continue rubbing her back, assuring myself of her presence and her safety.

"No, back home," says Peeta. "What happens when they reach the final eight tributes in the Games? What happens? At the final eight?" He cups her chin so that she has to look at him.

"At the final eight?" she repeats. "They interview your family and friends back home."

"That's right. They interview your family and friends. And can do they do that if they've killed them all?" asks Peeta.

"No?" Katniss's uncertainty makes her response a question.

"No," Peeta reiterates. "That's how we know she's alive. She'll be the first one they interview, won't she? First Prim. Then your mother. Your cousin, Gale. Madge. It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we're the only ones who can be hurt by it. We're the ones in the Games. Not them."

"You really believe that?" Katniss whispers.

"I really do," says Peeta.

"Do you believe it, Finnick?" she asks, turning to him.

He pauses. "It could be true. I don't know." Turning to me, he asks, "Could they do that, Beetee? Take someone's regular voice and make it..."

"Oh, yes," I assure him, still running my fingers through Wiress's curls. She's no longer crying, but she refuses to peek out at the cruel world the lies beyond my embrace. "It's not even that difficult, Finnick. Our children learn a similar technique at school."

"Of course Peeta is right," Johanna says in exasperation. "The whole country adores Katniss's little sister. If they really killed her like this, they'd probably have an uprising on their hands. Don't want that, do they?" She throws back her head and yells, "Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn't want anything like that!"

A watery laugh at the irony comes from Wiress's direction. Smiling, I gently press my lips to the top of her head as Johanna says, "I'm getting water."

When she passes Katniss, Katniss grabs her hand. "Don't go in there. The birds—"

"They can't hurt me," Johanna interrupts flatly. "I'm not like the rest of you. There's no one left I love." She yanks her hand from Katniss's and marches determinedly into the jungle, returning only with a shell of water for Katniss, who takes it gratefully.

Though it isn't late, I coax Wiress into lying down for a little while. She rests her head against my leg and closes her eyes; I try not to move much so as not to disturb her as I fiddle with my wire, using a stick found in the sand to sketch formulas in the dirt. A soft sigh comes from Wiress, a low breath mingled with the sound of my name. I gently touch her cheek; in her sleep, her face loses the omnipresent expression of panic and makes her seem calm and serene, like an angel. Though she's probably asleep and can't hear me, I nonetheless whisper, "From now on, I refuse to let anything happen to you. I'll keep you safe from now until the war is over. I promise you that, my love. I promise you that."

My words must reach her somewhere deep in her subconscious, because in her sleep, Wiress smiles.

* * *

**Be sure to leave a review! :)**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	3. Chapter 3

"Do you have a plan?" Wiress whispers.

The sun has begun to set. Wiress and I are at the very edge of the beach, moonlit water gently lapping at our feet. Her head is nestled against my shoulder as she stares out at the moon. Slipping an arm around her waist, I shake my head. "Not yet. But it'll come to me soon. It ought to be quite straightforward once I figure it out."

She smiles slightly, still gazing at the moon. Her reverie is only broken when Finnick calls us over. Taking Wiress's hand, I lead her to the group and accept the fish we're given. Before we eat, however, the Capitol anthem lights up the night sky. Following is a roll call of the dead.

Both from District 1. Mags, the kind old woman from 4. Both women from 5 and 6. Johanna's district partner from 7. The man from 10. Wiress silently puts her fish down and buries her face in my shoulder again. I run my fingers through her hair to soothe her; I'm troubled as well, but I don't think we're ailed by the same things. Wiress is probably unnerved by the sight of so many comrades dead—we've mentored with all of those people, as well as with the eight who died on the first night. I'm disturbed by the fact that Wiress could have so easily been one of the faces in the sky. If I had been just a second later, Wiress would be dead, her throat torn open by Gloss's knife...as if hearing my thoughts, Wiress reaches up and places her palm on my cheek, giving me a reassuring smile.

"They're really burning through us," says Johanna.

"Who's left?" asks Finnick. "Besides us six and District Two?"

Without hesitation, Peeta answers, "Chaff."

I do a quick count in my head of the survivors. Both from 2 and 3. Finnick from 4. Johanna from 7. Both from 12. Only nine out of twenty-four, little more than a third of the tributes alive after only two days. Wiress whimpers, and I hold her tighter.

Shortly after the death toll plays, a parachute comes down bearing twenty-four rolls from District 3. Finnick and I exchange a look; the message here could not be clearer. District 3. Day three. Twenty-four rolls. The twenty-fourth hour—midnight tomorrow. That's when our retrieval from the arena will be. I take a deep breath; I have until tomorrow night to complete my plan and destroy the force field surrounding the arena. If I don't...I shudder, not wanting to contemplate that.

After we eat two rolls each, leaving twelve extra, the six of us depart to the ten o'clock beach to make camp. Because they're the most rested, Peeta and Katniss take the first watch. Wiress curls up at my side, her back to me, and falls asleep instantly despite the nap she took earlier. I wind my arms around her waist and hold her close, her sweet-smelling hair brushing against my face. Against all odds, I fall asleep.

* * *

I'm woken up by a small, sharp pain the back of my head. Sleepily, I sit up, untangling myself from Wiress's arms, and the sensation repeats once again. I turn and see Johanna armed with a handful of small shells.

"Wake up Nuts," Johanna hisses. "It's your turn to keep watch."

Rubbing the back of my head, I nod and place a hand on Wiress's shoulder. "Wake up," I murmur. "Wiress."

Her eyelids flutter open and she sits up, regarding me in askance. "We have to keep watch," I murmur, standing. I help her to her feet and the two of us sit back-to-back about five feet in front of the remainder of our alliance. One of Finnick's tridents lays across my feet; I've never used one before, but in the instance of an attack, it shouldn't difficult to at least alert the others with it.

After a few moments of silence, Wiress murmurs, "Sun."

I look out toward the horizon and see the sunrise. Smiling, I clasp her hand and say, "It's lovely, isn't it?"

"No sun..."

"At home. I know. Because of the smog." I trace patterns on her wrist with my fingertips.

"Even though..."

"It's only simulated, it's still beautiful." I bring her hand to my lips and press my lips to each of her fingers, making her giggle softly. "Though it's nothing compared to you, of course."

She giggles again before sighing. "Still no...?"

"Plan?" I shake my head. "Not yet. I want to use the lightning tree, though. As a power source. Wrap the wire around it, and...somehow send it into the...the you-know-what." I doubt the cameras are on us at the moment, but I'd better be careful just in case they are.

Reassuringly, Wiress pats my hand. "You'll..."

"Figure it out?" I chuckle ironically. "Let's hope so."

About an hour later, the sun is high in the sky and the rest of our alliance is stirring. As we all rise, we discover a parachute. Its contents are identical to last night's: twenty-four rolls from 3. We each take five and store the remaining six for later. For a while, Wiress simply stares at hers, her eyes shimmering with tears.

"If you aren't going to eat those," Johanna finally says, "I will."

I shoot her a look and encircle Wiress's shoulders with my arm. It takes some coaxing, but she soon eats the rolls. I know why she's so distracted by them; she misses home. Understandable, of course. I assure her that we'll be home as soon as we can be, and this gives her a smile—albeit a weak one—to wear while we work with the wire. Soon, I develop a plan, and with an undertone of excitement, I explain it to Wiress.

It's quite simple, really. All I'm going to do is send the lightning bolt's energy into the force field by stabbing it with a knife wrapped in wire. The other end will be attached to the lightning tree. With any luck, a hole will be blown into the force field surrounding the arena and we'll be retrieved from it by the rebels in District 13. At first, Wiress seems impressed, but after a moment, she seems a bit disturbed. "You could..." She trails off, and I patiently wait for her to finish. "...get hurt," she says.

"They'll have doctors." Still she looks doubtful. I touch her cheek. "Wiress, I have to put the cause first. I'll be careful, but if I die..."

I don't finish because of her sudden tears. "Oh, Wiress," I murmur. I cup her face and wipe her tears away with my thumbs. "Don't cry. It'll be okay. One way or another, everything will be alright."

Sniffing, she nods before grasping my hands in hers. "Be careful," she whispers. "Please."

"Of course," I promise. Quickly, I brush my lips against hers before calling everyone over.

Finnick, Katniss, and Peeta join Wiress and me; Johanna is lying in the shade, napping. "I think we'll all agree that our next job is to kill Brutus and Enobaria," I begin. "I doubt they'll attack us openly again, now that they're so outnumbered. We could track them down, I suppose, but it's dangerous, exhausting work."

"Do you think they've figured out about the force field?" Katniss inquires.

"If they haven't," I reply, "they'll figure it out soon enough. Perhaps not as specifically as we have. But they most know that at least some of the zones are wired for attacks and that they're reoccurring in a circular fashion. Also, the fact that our last fight was cut off by Gamemaker intervention will not have gone unnoticed by them. We know it was an attempt to disorient us, but they must be asking themselves why it was done, and this, too, may lead them to the realization that the arena's a clock." I pause to take a breath. "So I think our best bet would be setting our own trap."

"Wait, let me get Johanna up," Finnick interrupts, hurrying to her resting place. "She'll be rabid if she thinks she missed something this important."

"Or not," Katniss mutters. Wiress giggles.

When Johanna joins us, I have everyone back up so that I have room to draw in the sand. I take a stick and draw a circle divided into twelfths—the arena. "If you were Brutus and Enobaria," I say, "knowing what you do now about the jungle, where would you feel safest?"

"Where we are now," Peeta answers. "On the beach. It's the safest place."

"So why aren't they on the beach?" I prompt.

"Because we're here," Johanna snaps.

"Exactly," I say. "We're here, claiming the beach. Now where would you go?"

"I'd hide just at the edge of the jungle," says Katniss, "so I could escape if an attack came. And so I could spy on us."

"Also to eat," Finnick adds. "The jungle's full of strange creatures and plants. But by watching us, I'd know the seafood's safe."

I smile. Wiress clasps my hand and squeezes it in encouragement. "Yes, good. You do see. Now here's what I propose: a twelve o'clock strike. What happens at exactly noon and at midnight?"

"The lightning bolt hits the tree," Katniss replies.

"Yes. So what I'm suggesting is that after the bolt hits at noon, but before it hits at midnight, we run my wire from that tree all the way down into the saltwater, which is, of course, highly conductive. When the bolt strikes the electricity will travel down the wire and into not only the water but also the surrounding beach, which will still be damp from the ten o'clock wave. Anyone in contact with those surfaces at the moment will be electrocuted," I tell everyone.

They all exchange a few doubtful glances.

"Will that wire really be able to conduct that much power, Beetee?" asks Peeta. "It looks so fragile, like it would just burn up."

"Oh, it will," I admit. "But not until the current has passed through it. It will act something like a fuse, in fact. Except the electricity will travel along it."

"How do you know?" demands Johanna.

"Because I invented it," I say simply. Enthusiastically, Wiress nods, and Johanna scowls. "It's not actually wire in the usual sense. Nor is the lightning natural lightning nor the tree a real tree. You know trees better than any of us, Johanna. It would be destroyed by now, wouldn't it?"

"Yes," she admits.

"Don't worry about the wire," I assure everyone. "It will do just what I say."

"And where will we be when this happens?" asks Finnick.

"Far enough up in the jungle to be safe," I respond.

"The Careers will be safe too, then, unless they're in the vicinity of the water," Katniss points out.

"That's right," I confirm.

"But all the seafood will be cooked," says Peeta.

"Probably more than cooked. We will most likely be eliminating that as a food source for good," I say. "But you found other edible things in the jungle, right, Katniss?"

"Yes," she says, "nuts and rats. And we have sponsors."

"Well, then," I say calmly, "I don't see that as a problem. But as we are allies and this will require all of our efforts, the decision of whether or not to attempt it is up to you five." I look at Wiress, who regards me in askance. She didn't realize that her opinion would also be taken into account. I nod at her perplexity, and in a soft voice, she says, "I say we...we try it."

Katniss backs her up. "Why not? If it fails, there's no harm done. If it works, there's a decent chance we'll kill them. And even if we don't and just kill the seafood, Brutus and Enobaria lose it as a food source, too."

"I say we try it," echoes Peeta. "Katniss is right."

Finnick looks at Johanna, raising his eyebrows. Finally, with an irritable sigh, she says, "Alright. It's better than hunting them down in the jungle, anyway. And I'll doubt they'll figure out our plan, since we can barely understand it ourselves."

Upon determining the time—about nine o'clock in the morning—we break camp. Wiress comes to my side and whispers, "Everything..."

"Will be alright," I assure her, touching her cheek. "I'm getting you out of here one way or another."

"I..." When she doesn't finish, I make to finish for her, but Wiress holds up her hand for silence. She wants to finish herself. Patiently, I wait. "I...I love...you. I love you."

"And never were three words any truer," I murmur before sealing the promise with another kiss. I hear Johanna pretending to retch a short distance away, but at the moment, I'm beyond caring.

* * *

**Don't worry; more spontaneity will arise when we leave the arena and Beetee isn't with Katniss all the time. :) Please leave a review! And I'd like to thank **_EmeraldSafiaClove_**, **_Korvstrum00_**, and **_MEKK _**for subscribing! **

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	4. Chapter 4

**I'd like to thank **_Delilah's Soliloquy _**for her kind review of last chapter!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

* * *

"_Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water_," Wiress sings, skipping along beside Finnick and me. Reluctantly, I agreed to let him and Peeta take turns carrying me through the jungle simply because of my back injury. I suppose it isn't _too _degrading—the only one making an issue of it is, of course, Johanna, but she soon tires of teasing me about it and instead focuses on the task at hand: searching for the force field. Every so often, she'll drop in a complaint about Wiress; I dislike this more than I dislike her innuendos about my sexuality. Happily, Wiress continues her song. "_Jack fell down and broke his crown, and Jill came tumbling—_"

"Will you _please _shut up?" snaps Johanna. "Sing in your head, why don't you? You're annoying everyone to death."

Her eyes fill with tears. "_I_ enjoy your singing, Wiress," I assure her.

Beaming, she begins a new song. "_Three blind mice. Three blind mice—_"

"Keep singing and I'll make _you _blind!" Johanna threatens, holding up her ax.

"Leave her alone," Katniss snaps. "Cover your ears if you don't like it."

She opens her mouth to retort when Finnick says, "It's just a song, Johanna. Give it a rest."

For whatever reason, Johanna falls into a moody silence at this. Wiress smiles and continues skipping and singing. "_See how they run. See how they run..._"

After a little while, Finnick says, "Hey, Katniss, why don't you take the lead?"

Johanna scowls, obviously disliking the idea of Katniss taking over her position. "Why?" she demands.

"Because Katniss can hear the force field," he explains.

Wiress and I stare at him. "_Hear _it?" I repeat.

"Only with the ear the Capitol reconstructed," she mutters, not making eye contact.

Wiress's song dissolves into the muggy air as her eyes once again fill with tears. Her expression is easy to read; she thinks Katniss lied because she doesn't want to admit that Wiress and I—but especially Wiress—taught her something. Because Katniss thinks she's better than us. Wiress already has an inferiority complex, and it's moments like this that lower her self-esteem even further. I reach out and grasp her hand to assure her before saying, "Then by all means, let Katniss go first. Force fields are nothing to play around with."

Almost theatrically, Katniss creeps up the slope, tossing tree nuts in front of her. "There," Wiress murmurs, looking up. I follow her gaze and see the rippling square in the upper right-hand corner. Our hunch is confirmed by the sizzle of a nut as it hits.

"Just stay below the lightning tree," Katniss warns us.

Armed with her bow, she disappears to hunt. Johanna follows with the spile to tap a tree for water. Finnick puts me down and acts as guard while I examine the lightning tree. At first, Wiress lingers uncertainly by me, but then Peeta says kindly, "N—er, Wiress, do you want to help me gather tree nuts?"

Wiress looks at me, as if for permission. After deciding that Peeta is trustworthy enough to look after her, I nod with a smile, and as the two wander off, I hear Peeta say, "You could teach me some of those songs."

Happily, Wiress begins to sing, "_Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water..._"

Peeta's voice joins her for the next line, and I laugh aloud imagining the look on Johanna's face. Finnick eyes me questioningly, but I simply continue examining the tree.

At eleven o'clock, the adjacent sector begins clicking ominously. My hearing isn't what it used to be and I was almost asleep, so I'd thought I was imagining it last night. I was wrong. Frightened by the sound, Wiress instinctively drifts to my side, and I put an arm around her as we all listen to the sound. After a moment, Wiress speaks. "It's not..."

"Mechanical. Whatever it is, it's something biological," I explain.

Pausing, Katniss says, "I'd guess insects. Maybe beetles."

"Something with pincers," Finnick adds.

Wiress yelps softly when the sound increases in volume. When she buries her face in my shoulder, trembling, I say, "Perhaps we should start moving."

Grudgingly, Johanna says, "Volts has a point for once. There's less than an hour before the lightning starts."

We travel just a sector away and divide the food. While we eat the tree rat Katniss killed and the nuts Peeta and Wiress gathered, I ask Katniss to climb into the tree canopy and analyze the lightning strike. Nodding, she gives me her weapons and quickly shimmies up the tree. When the lightning has struck, she leaps down and explains her findings. Though her terminology is elementary, I'm nonetheless pleased with her report.

Afterward, we return to the beach at ten o'clock. The others disperse while Wiress and I put the final touches on the plan. Soon, we join the rest of the group and discover that we've not only received twenty-four more rolls from District 3 but also a small pot of red sauce. When we divvy up the bread, each of us taking four and leaving six once again, Wiress is the first to do anything other than stare at the pot of sauce and simply dunks a roll into it before putting it nonchalantly in her mouth. We watch her as she chews and swallows, waiting for her assessment. "Spicy," she finally says.

Something about this makes me laugh. Wiress eyes me in concern, and I smile and pat her hand to assure her that I'm laughing _with _her, not _at _her.

We indulge on seafood—fish, shellfish, oysters. Delicacies made tastier because of how seldom we eat them. I turn at the sound of Peeta's laughter. "Hey, look at this!"

In his hands he holds a small, iridescent pearl. Wiress smiles. "So pretty," she says.

"You know, if you put enough pressure on coal, it turns to pearls," Peeta tells Finnick.

Scoffing, Finnick retorts, "No, it doesn't."

After rinsing off the pearl, Peeta hands it to Katniss with a flourish. "For you."

"Thanks," she says, taking it from him. Their eyes meet. It's as if they're having a conversation the rest of us are not apart of; it reminds me of myself and Wiress.

"The locket didn't work, did it?" Peeta finally murmurs.

In confusion, we turn to Katniss. "It worked," she answers.

"But not the way I wanted it to." Peeta looks away. We regard him in askance, but he refuses to divulge in the matter, so we simply revert our attentions to our meal.

After we eat, we toss our leftovers into the sea. Wiress comes over to me and nestles into my side, sighing softly. Tenderly, I twine my fingers in her hair and gently massage her scalp with my fingernails the way she likes. She gives another soft sigh and murmurs, "Love."

"I love you, too."

We hold hands as the Capitol anthem plays. The sky is faceless tonight—if we don't act quickly, the Gamemakers will give in to the restless audience and send in another weapon. At nine o'clock, we move, hiking over to the twelve o'clock beach and up the slope. I walk on my own this time, my hand still in Wiress's. Soon, we reach the lightning tree.

Finnick helps me while the other four keep watch. I unroll about twenty-five yards of wire, have Finnick secure it to a broken branch, and rest it on the ground for later usage. Afterward, we begin passing the coil back and forth, entwining the wire around the trunk of the tree. The wave begins shortly after our work on the trunk is complete. Eying my work with grim satisfaction, I turn to Katniss and Johanna. "You two are to take my coil and down through the jungle, unwinding the wire as you go," I instruct. "Lay it across the twelve o'clock beach and drop whatever is left of the spool deep into the water. Make sure it sinks. Then, run for the jungle. If you go right now, you ought to make it back safely."

"I want to go with them as a guard," Peeta says immediately.

"You're too slow," I say. "Besides, I'll need you on this end. Katniss will guard. There's no time to debate this. I'm sorry. If the girls are to get out of there alive, they need to move now." I hold out the spool to Johanna, who gives me a small nod as she takes it.

"It's okay. We'll just drop the spool and come straight back up," Katniss says to Peeta.

"Not into the lightning zone. Head for the tree in the one-to-two o'clock sector," I tell her. "If you find you're running out of time, move over one more. Don't even think about going back on the beach, though, until I can assess the damage."

Katniss takes Peeta's face in her hands. "Don't worry," she says. "I'll see you at midnight." After they kiss, she turns to Johanna. "Ready?"

Johanna shrugs. "Why not? You guard, I'll unwind. We can trade off later."

They go down the slope. "What do we need to do?" asks Peeta anxiously.

The hovercraft that will collect us will undoubtedly appear just behind the spot we're at now, but staying so close by this spot when I blow the hole into the force field could be dangerous. "Hand me your knife. Then cross over to the one-to-two o'clock sector," I decide.

"What then?" says Wiress.

"When we get there," I say, "I'll let you know."

Briefly, I touch her lips with mine before gently pushing her toward Finnick. "Keep an eye on her, will you?" I ask.

"Of course," says Finnick. He grasps Wiress's wrist and says, "Come on, Nuts," before leading her away. Peeta seems confused, but he relinquishes his knife and follows.

When the clicking begins to sound, I move about ten yards down the slope and make a clean slash with the knife. One end of the wire snakes downhill; the other springs back toward the tree. Following it, I wrap my knife in it before finding the metaphorical chink in the armor, as Wiress called it one day in training.

Suddenly, I'm greeted with the sound of footsteps. When I turn, I find myself face-to-face with Enobaria of District 2.

"Well, hi there, Volts," she croons, grinning. In one hand she holds a large rock. In the other is a knife.

My pulse starts racing. What do I do now? I never considered what could happen if I was intercepted. If I yell for Finnick or Peeta, will either return to me to fend off Enobaria in time? It's possible, but unlikely. The knife in my hand is shaking madly.

More footsteps approach, and a loud gasp reaches my ears. To my horror, Wiress reappears. Did she linger on even after Finnick took her away? She can't be here; it isn't safe.

Enobaria turns and smirks at the sight of her. She and Wiress are very close in age, but Wiress is much smaller. Not only that, she's unarmed and lacks any kind of bloodlust. As soon as Enobaria raises the knife, I spring forward and use mine to make a long gash from her shoulder to her arm. The cut isn't deep, but it's enough to distract Enobaria with the pain and for me to yell at Wiress, "_Run!_"

Immediately, Wiress obeys, darting off once more into the trees. After another howl of pain, Enobaria turns to me and raises the large rock in her hand, and I have just enough time to pray Wiress gets to safety in time before it crashes into the back of my head.

* * *

**Well, Beetee's in a bit of a sticky situation. Please leave a review! :)**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	5. Chapter 5

**I'd like to thank **_Savysnape7_**, **_Delilah's Soliloquy_**, ****and **_Ktstoriesandstuff _**for their reviews! Here's a nice, long chapter for everyone! :)**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

* * *

"Beetee?" comes a voice from far, far away. "Beetee, can you hear me? Are you awake?"

My eyelids flutter open at the sound of the voice, and I find myself staring at a white ceiling. Every inch of my body feels like lead. A horrible pain in the back of my skull makes recall quite difficult. Finally, though, I manage to seep through the many clouds of discord to regard the person sitting beside me—the Head Gamemaker and rebel mastermind, Plutarch Heavensbee. "Well, hello, Beetee," he says, retrieving my glasses and fixating them on my face. Instantly, my world becomes a bit clearer. "How are you feeling?"

"Awful," I mutter. Groaning with the effort, I prop myself up on my elbows and ask, "What...what happened?"

"You were knocked unconscious," says Plutarch. "But don't worry. Katniss finished your job and is safe and sound, as are you."

Nodding, I continue peering around the sterile white room. "So...it worked?"

"Indeed it did," says Plutarch. "We're on our way to Thirteen right now. And we thank you extensively for your part."

My hand finds the back of my head, and I rub the gauze covering it to ease the ache in my skull. "Where's Wiress?" I inquire sleepily. A morphling drip sits by my bed, so I decide that I must be heavily influenced by the painkiller right now. I'm quite exhausted, though I must have been out for some time already. Nonetheless, I still want to see Wiress before I go to sleep again. As I watch Plutarch's face, waiting for my answer, I'm disturbed to see him look away awkwardly...no, guiltily. My heart starts racing with fear. "Plutarch, is she hurt? Where is she?" I ask again.

He still refuses to answer.

"Plutarch?"

"The Capitol seemed to be waiting for us," he finally says. "Some victors were taken hostage after the force field was penetrated."

I feel tears well in my eyes and roll down my cheeks. They feel scalding hot against my chilled skin. "Where's Wiress?" I whisper. I know where she is. But I have to hear it. I don't know why, but I have to hear it.

Softly, Plutarch says, "I am so sorry, Beetee. We tried to get her, but...it seems as if after your attack, Enobaria of District Two went after her. We tried to retrieve both of them, we did, but...by the time we reached the site of their scuffle...they were both gone. Taken by the Capitol."

A strangled sob rips out of my throat and I bury my face in my hands, dissolving into tears. Taken by the Capitol...for a known rebel, and such a fragile one at that, there is truly no worse fate. I can only imagine what they could be doing to poor Wiress right now...images flash before me, none of which are pleasant. Wiress being beaten, smothered, whipped, electrocuted, raped...on and on and on, scenario after scenario, the hundreds of different ways they could elicit answers from her.

_And if it weren't for me, she wouldn't be there in the first place_.

If I had never sent her away, she would have been by the force field and would be safe. But no, she isn't safe. Wiress is in the Capitol. Wiress is at their mercy.

And it's all _my_ fault...

As I continue to cry, Plutarch rests a hand on my shoulder and murmurs, "Beetee, I am so sorry...we did everything we could, really..."

I don't blame him in the least. It wasn't his fault. It was mine, all mine. I swore to protect her no matter what, secretly held her life above Katniss's—though the rebels would deem me a traitor for doing so—and all I did was land her in hell. She could be screaming right now, pleading to be let go, pleading for me to come save her, to protect her like I promised I would...

Finally, I'm able to form words on my tongue and I choke out, "My fault—all my fault—"

"It isn't your fault, Beetee," says Plutarch, still grasping my shoulder.

"I told her to run," I whisper between sobs. "If I hadn't, she would have been by the force field...and she would be here, and safe..."

"Beetee, anyone would understand why you told her to flee," Plutarch replies. "She was in danger. If you hadn't told her to run, Enobaria would have killed her—"

"Don't you see? She'd be better off dead!" I scream. I continue weeping into my hands, and soon, I find it impossible to catch my breath. Plutarch has to call for a nurse; she injects something into one of the intravenous tubes attached to my arm and my world suddenly goes black.

* * *

"_Run!_"

The word ricochets in my brain like a pinball. The sound of my voice shouting this command to Wiress is background music to my nightmares about what could be happening to her at this very moment—in my dreams, she is beaten into unconsciousness, has her head shoved into a tank of water and is deprived of oxygen for minutes at a time, has her body parts cut off, one finger at a time, is gagged and bound and mounted by two or three large men at once...soon, the sound of my yelling that wretched word are accompanied by the angry shouts of Peacekeepers, by Wiress's tortured screams, and soon, they both give way to Peacekeepers' sadistic cries of ecstasy, to Wiress's pleading to be released, to be left alone, for me to come rescue her, to protect her from these people who hurt her so eagerly...and I am unable to do anything but watch and listen. I promised to protect her, but I am unable to do so.

"_Run!_"

When I finally wake, I relax upon assuring myself that my nightmares were not real, but then reality smacks me in the face and I begin to cry again. They _are _real. All of those terrible things could be happening to Wiress at this very moment. Footsteps approach me and I wipe my eyes on my sleeve with a hearty sniff, eying Plutarch warily as he sits beside me. "If there's anything I can do for you," he says, "name it and I'll be glad to do it."

What could he do for me? He could rescue Wiress before anything is done to her. If he can't save her, he could go and kill her and end her pain. But no, he cannot do either of these, and the knowledge that _I _should be the one saving Wiress makes me begin weeping all over again. Sighing, Plutarch puts his hand on my back and says, "Oh, Beetee...I understand how terrible this seems, but...if it's any consolation, I don't blame you in the least."

It _isn't _any consolation. _I_ blame myself. Wiress probably blames me as well. She probably hates me now and curses my name in the breaks between torture sessions. Suddenly, a morbid question forms in my mind and I ask, "Was anyone else c-captured?"

"Unfortunately, yes," says Plutarch gravely. "Peeta Mellark and Johanna Mason."

_Peeta_. _And Johanna_. Though I'm not well acquainted with either—and openly express dislike for the latter—the knowledge that there are two more people who are enduring the same agony as Wiress makes me want to cry again. Peeta was such a good person. And Johanna...she was devoted to the rebellion and will pay dearly for it. Just like dear, sweet Wiress...

I'm crying again, but silently this time. Tears spill out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks, dripping off my chin and hitting my clasped hands. "Beetee? Do you need a moment?" Plutarch asks gently.

I nod and lie back down, curling into a ball and pulling the covers over my head. The tubes and machines and whatnot hooked up to my body make this slightly difficult, but I'm at least able to hide somewhat from this stark reality for a little while.

* * *

The next few days blend together into a senseless blur of crying, eating, sleeping, more crying, and listen halfheartedly to Plutarch's reports on the war. According to him, most of the districts are now in full-scale rebellion. Our retrieval from the arena was televised, and viewing it gave the reluctant rebels across Panem enough courage to take matters into their own hands. When he brightly relays this to me, my brain becomes fixed on the words _our retrieval_, I remember that Wiress_ wasn't _retrieved, that she's in the Capitol and is probably being tortured this very minute, and I begin crying again. A nurse has to come in and sedate me.

I receive some—not much, but some—consolation by the fact that Finnick is coping about as well as I am. Annie Cresta, the mad victor from 4 whom he loves unconditionally, was captured shortly after the Quell and is in the same situation as Wiress. Though we aren't particularly close, we are eventually assigned a hospital room together simply because of how similar our situations are. We keep to ourselves, but the presence of someone who understands what I'm enduring at the moment is strangely comforting.

Then I feel guilty about being even slightly comfortable when Wiress is as _un_comfortable as she can be, and once again, I weep. It's a cycle, a cruel, vicious cycle. I am trapped within it and only Wiress's return to me can break the chains.

"Explain to me again why we can't rescue them," I dully ask Plutarch. "Peeta, Johanna, Annie, and...Wiress..." I nearly burst into tears again at the sound of her name on the list of those needing rescue. _I promised I'd protect her_...

"It's too costly at the moment," Plutarch informs for the umpteenth time. "People will die. Covers will be blown. It's not in our best interest at the moment."

Bitterly, I think, _It isn't in _their _best interest to be in the Capitol where they're being tortured day and night for rebel secrets_..._beaten, smothered, whipped electrocuted, raped_..._oh, Wiress, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for not protecting you_...

Before I realize fully what's happening, I find myself unable to breathe. Once again, I am sedated.

At first, I wonder how and why Plutarch comes to visit me every single day without reprieve. My brain has been exceptionally sluggish as of late; the doctors contribute this to the head trauma I received courtesy of Enobaria. After a week, however, I realize why Plutarch is making so much of an effort to get me on my feet again—figuratively speaking, of course, as my back wound did not heal properly while in the arena and makes walking difficult; for the time being, I've been assigned a wheelchair to help me get around, but like Finnick, I spend most days in bed—despite his obviously busy schedule. Of course. He and the other rebels in 13 want the genius inventor functioning again so that they can use him for the war effort. For a moment, I actually thought Plutarch was concerned about my _feelings_. He and the rebels might as well toss aside the notion of using me for anything at the moment; so far, the only thing I am able to focus on is whatever is being done to Wiress.

Though he was originally quite subtle about it, Plutarch soon begins speaking openly about my possible role as a rebel. I try to tune him out when he begins these speeches; nothing I can do can protect Wiress, so what's the point of doing anything?

I relay this to Plutarch, and though I meant to insert no innuendo in those words, I am consequently put on suicide watch. To be honest, I couldn't care less.

When the doctors and nurses assure themselves that I'm not waiting for an oppurtune moment to end my life—and I could never do that, not when Wiress doesn't have such a privilege—and I'm finally given some privacy once again, Plutarch pointedly invades it to discuss with me once again the merits of my assisting the war efforts. He wants me to work in a complex in 13 called _Special Defense—_hacking into televisions nationwide to air rebel propoganda, refining District 13's extensive arsenal of weapons as well as developing new weapons, and so on and so forth. They're attempting to convert Finnick into a rebel leader with just as little success. If a word other than _resourceful _fits the citizens of 13 to a tee, it's _stubborn_.

A few more days pass uneventfully, but soon, another man comes knocking, one I didn't expect. Haymitch Abernathy, a victor from 12 and Katniss's mentor. Alcohol is prohibited in 13, and because he is addicted to it, he immediately underwent detoxification upon entry to 13. I had no idea he was out and about. Seeming more irritated than usual, he storms over to my bedside and throws himself into the chair usually occupied by Plutarch or the psychiatrist that occasionally comes around. I sit up a bit straighter, regarding him in askance.

And to my utmost surprise, Haymitch starts our conversation by slapping me across the face.

Gasping, I cup my stinging cheek and swallow the acrid blood that fills my mouth upon impact. My vision is horribly blurry and a few teeth feel considerably looser. Immediately, I throw up an arm to defend myself from another assault as Haymitch yells, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

I'm too worn down—not physically as much as emotionally—to muster a witty comeback, so I instead whisper, "Wiress..."

"I know," Haymitch hisses. "They got Peeta, too. And you don't see me lying around and crying all day, do you?"

I'd like to point out that, as far as I know, there is no romance between Haymitch and Peeta. Not only that, Haymitch has known him for a year at the most. Wiress and I have been a couple for almost twenty years. The circumstances are quite different. But to prevent him from hitting me again, I simply answer, "No."

"Exactly. So what gives you the right to do it?" Haymitch demands. "Would that woman of yours want you to just give up? If they're torturing her"—I emit a small whimper at these words and am rewarded with a fearsome glare—"then she would want you _fighting _for her! If you give up, then the Capitol has done exactly what they wanted to. They've won." He grips the front of my hospital gown and yanks me closer so that our noses are mere inches apart. "Do you want them to win, Beetee?" he shouts into my face.

"Not particularly...could you, um, let me go, please?"

Irritably, Haymitch shoves me back onto the bed. "She isn't going to give up while they're putting her through hell in the Capitol. Why should you give up here?"

With that, Haymitch leaves me to ponder his words.

Lying back, I think for the longest time. Is Haymitch right? Is that what Wiress would want? I can imagine it now—she would want to assure a rebel victory, no matter the cost. I can help attain that for her. And when—or _if—_she is brought back alive from the Capitol, she'll be able to forgive me for not protecting her when she needed it the most.

My mind is set. When Plutarch comes by, I interrupt what will be the beginning of another lecture and say, "I need clothes."

"C-clothes, Beetee?" he repeats, perplexed.

I wouldn't call what I do next smiling, but my lips do twitch slightly at the corners. "No one in Special Defense will take me seriously if I arrive wearing this, Plutarch."

The implication that I am finally agreeing to work for the rebels no matter the personal cost makes Plutarch emit a shriek of joy. While he scurries off to fulfill my request, I close my eyes and silently hope against hope that I'm doing the right thing.

* * *

**Well, even though Beetee is having a bit of a rough time, it's good to see he'll soon be back on his feet. Er, wheels. I don't often write Haymitch, so do tell me if he's in-character or not—and to do that, you have to leave a review! :) Please do so! **

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	6. Chapter 6

**By the way, you may notice later on that Beetee's psychiatrist is the same as Katniss's later on. Why did I do that? Well, you see, friends, I am lazy. That's why I did that. :) Enjoy the chapter!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

* * *

Vermillion, aqua, emerald, magenta, lilac, gold...the birds in District 3 are not as bright as these. If colors were given form and substance, they would be hummingbirds, darting through the clean air like fireworks and captivating all eyes. They certainly captivate mine; the rare bit of beauty is enough to raise my spirits, at least temporarily. Wiress would love it here...

Shaking my head, I grip the arm of my wheelchair and employ one of the strategies my psychiatrist, Dr. Aurelius, recommended to keep my thoughts and emotions in check. Juxtapose the good with the bad. "Pretending that everything is alright when it clearly isn't won't get you anywhere," he explained, "but if you allow yourself to compare the good with the bad, you may find that you have enough to keep you going for the time being." With a low sigh, I close my eyes and do so.

Naturally, I start with the bad. I am currently wheelchair-bound. Wiress is in the Capitol. She is probably being tortured this very minute. If I had not been so careless, she would be safe. When she is inevitably rescued—Plutarch has told me that the rebels are waiting for an opportune time to rescue her and the other captured victors—she will most likely never be the same as she was before. She may even be tortured into insanity.

_Okay, now think of the good_. I am alive. I am still fighting. Katniss has agreed to become the symbol of the rebellion, the Mockingjay, and has forced Coin's hand in the immunity of all captured victors. No matter what Wiress reveals during her interrogation, she will be pardoned. I am doing everything I can to make up for my carelessness. No amount of change could ever make me stop loving her, even if she goes insane...when she is returned to me, I will do everything I can to make her feel safe again. When this war is over—and hopefully won—everything will be as alright as it can be. It has to be...

Sighing again, I follow a spring-green bird with my eyes as it darts across the replicated meadow. I discovered this place shortly after I began working in Special Defense and it has since become my haven. As the hummingbird sips nectar from a flower the color of the sunset, my eyes scan across the window and I'm greeted by the sight of Katniss and her cousin, Gale. I'm heartened greatly when I remember why they're here, and cheerfully, I motion them inside with a wave of my hand.

As the two enter, I watch the awe melt over their features. Are they as surprised as I was that such a lovely, pleasing place was allowed in a district so drab? In response, I adjust my glasses and say, "Aren't they magnificent? Thirteen has been studying their aerodynamics here for years. Forward and backward flight, and speeds up to sixty miles per hour." The sound that comes from my throat surprises me—it's almost a laugh. "If only I could build you wings like these, Katniss!"

"Doubt I could manage them, Beetee," she replies with a laugh.

"Here one second, gone the next," I say airily. Upon remembering the specialized bow built by me waiting for her in the other room, curiosity overcomes me and I ask, "Can you bring a hummingbird down with an arrow?"

"I've never tried," Katniss admits. "Not much meat on them."

"No," I agree. "And you're not one to kill for sport. I bet they'd be hard to shoot, though..."

"You could snare them, maybe," suggests Gale. "Take a net with a very fine mesh. Enclose an area and leave a mouth of a couple square feet. Bait the inside with nectar flowers. While they're feeding, snap the mouth shut. They'd fly away from the noise but only encounter the far side of the net."

Impressed with his thinking, I ask, "Would that work?"

"I don't know," Gale answers. "Just an idea. They might outsmart it."

"They might," I say. "But you're playing on their natural instincts to flee danger. Thinking like your prey…that's where you find their vulnerabilities."

Gale seems just as impressed with my reasoning as I was with his. Perhaps we have more in common than I thought. I'm about to ask more about his snaring capabilities when Katniss, seeming uncomfortable, blurts, "Beetee, Plutarch said you had something for me."

Reluctantly, I swallow my questions for Gale and say, "Right. I do. Your new bow." I wheel out of the room with Gale and Katniss in tow. The latter eyes my wheelchair in confusion; I realize an explanation is in order. "I can walk a little now," I say. "It's just that I tire so quickly. It's easier for me to get around this way." After a pause, I ask, "How's Finnick doing?" I haven't seen much of him since I moved out of the hospital and into my new compartment, Compartment 171.

"He's…he's having concentration problems," Katniss says in a voice that tells me very clearly that Finnick has not taken the steps toward recovery that I have.

My smile is ironic and sympathetic at the same time. "Concentration problems, eh? If you knew what Finnick's been through the last few years, you'd know how remarkable it is he's still with us at all. Tell him I've been working on a new trident for him, though, will you? Something to distract him a little."

"Of course," says Katniss with a nod. After a moment, she asks, "And how are you doing?"

I blink, surprised at the question. "What?"

"How are you doing?" Katniss repeats, seeming a bit concerned. "I know that Wiress was captured, too..."

Swallowing over the lump in my throat, I say, "I'm fine." After another pause, I ask, "And you?"

"Fine," says Katniss. Our tones tell us both otherwise, but neither of us pushes the subject.

When we reach the hall leading to the armory, we immediately undergo a wide range of security scans—the schedules tattooed on our arms, DNA, retinal, fingerprints. We also walk through special metal detectors; because of this, I have to leave my wheelchair outside, though I'm given another one once we're through security. When we reach the door of Special Weaponry, we undergo yet another series of identification checks before we're finally allowed inside Special Weaponry. As it did the first time, I'm a bit taken aback at the sheer number of weapons at 13's disposal. If it can take a life, it's in this room.

Glancing at Katniss, I say, "Of course, the Airborne Division is housed separately."

"Of course," she echoes. I can't help my small smile; there's something endlessly amusing about Katniss pretending to know what I'm talking about.

As we reach the wall of archery weapons, I say, "Gale, maybe you'd like to try out a few of these."

"Seriously?" he says.

"You'll be issued a gun eventually for battle, of course," I tell him. "But if you appear as part of Katniss's team in the propos"—or _propaganda spots_, rebel propaganda I will hopefully broadcast in every television in Panem—"one of these would look a little showier. I thought you might like to find one that suits you."

"Yeah, I would," says Gale. He removes a heavily mechanized bow from its resting place and hoists it onto his shoulder, pointing it around the room and peering through the scope.

Narrowing her eyes, Katniss says, "That doesn't seem very fair to the deer."

"Wouldn't be using it on deer, would I?" says Gale.

Katniss and I both shift uncomfortably, and I take the opportune moment to retrieve Katniss's bow. "I'll be right back," I say, wheeling over to a panel. I enter the code and wheel through the doorway, my heart pounding with excitement. Ever since I was discharged from the hospital, I've spent almost all of my time working on the bow. The tall, black rectangular case doesn't fit in my lap, so I end up resting one end against my footrest and the other against my shoulder. Holding on to it with one arm, I wheel back in and extend it toward Katniss with a small smile. "For you."

Uncomfortably, I'm reminded of Peeta giving Katniss the pearl in the arena, and I look away, hoping she doesn't notice. Luckily, all of her attention seems to be on the bow. "Oh," she breathes. The sound consists of awe and utmost admiration, and I'm unable to keep from grinning. The outside is quite simple—a slim piece of mahogany painted a lustrous shade of black, angled like a bird's wings in flight. I spent hours studying mockingjays, and their flight patterns greatly influenced the exterior of the bow. It's the inside, however, that I spent the most time on. When Katniss notices it, she presses the bow against her cheek. "What's it doing?" she asks.

"Saying hello. It heard your voice," I explain.

"It recognizes my voice?" she whispers in awe.

"_Only_ your voice," I correct. "You see, they wanted me to design a bow based purely on looks. As part of your costume, you know? But I kept thinking, _What a waste_. I mean, what if you do need it sometime? As more than a fashion accessory? So I left the outside simple, and left the inside to my imagination. Best explained in practice, though. Want to try those out?"

Enthusiastically, Katniss nods, and the three of us cross over to the target range I had set up. I made multiple kinds of arrows for her—razor-sharp, incendiary, even explosive. Both she and Gale seem genuinely impressed with the bow and the arrows; by the time she has to leave, I delight her once more by explaining how to deactivate the bow's special properties.

"Goodnight," says Katniss almost giddily. The bow turns off and her eyes meet mine. "This is absolutely amazing, Beetee. Thank you."

"You're welcome," I reply with a smile. Katniss departs with the bow in hands to be remade for the propo Plutarch and his assistant, Fulvia Cardew, are filming. Gale stays behind and we exit Special Weaponry, heading for one of the many workrooms. "You may not have noticed," I say, "but I was quite impressed with your thinking earlier. About snaring a hummingbird."

He smiles fleetingly. "Thanks."

"That sort of mind is rare," I continue. An idea comes to me and I ask, "Say, would you call your schedule too important to disregard?"

"Not at all," Gale answers. "Why do you ask?"

"Given the strict code of conduct here, we would have to ask for permission," I say, "but if we attain it, I'd like you to work here with me on occasion."

"Here? In Special Defense?" He seems a bit surprised. "Doing what?"

"I've been asked to help develop weapons," I explain. "I could easily handle the technological side of things, but I would love to have your expertise in the, ah, psychological aspects. The traps themselves."

"Hm." Gale pauses, thinking. "I guess I could do that."

"It would really help," I add.

Smiling wryly, Gale says, "Then I guess I can't pass it up. Alright, I'll help."

"Are you sure you want to?"

Gale shrugs. "Sure. Whatever I can do to end the war, right? But what exactly would you want me to do?"

An ironic grin twists my mouth. "Think of us like a spider, Gale. I make the threads; you spin the web."

Gale nods. "Sounds like a plan."

We spend the rest of the afternoon in one of the workrooms, and Gale shows me a few of the snares he's been perfecting over the years. Despite his youth—I learn that he's nineteen—his capabilities, intelligence, and intuition continue to astound me. When we have to leave for Reflection, I say, "You know, Gale, this could be the start of a beautiful friendship."

Rolling his eyes, Gale says, "Just don't let the word get out. I can't let everyone know that I'm friends with a nerd. I got a reputation to protect." He grins to let me know that he's kidding.

"As you wish, Gale," I say as I wheel back to my own compartment. "As you wish."

Because I live alone and have no one to spend time with during Reflection, I usually return to the hospital to talk with my psychiatrist. I originally denied that I needed treatment, but over the past month, Dr. Aurelius has helped me acknowledge and overcome problems I didn't even know I had. It's as if he were meant to work with Hunger Games victors—he never insists that I'm safe or anything ridiculous like that. Most importantly, he helps me retain the notion that I'm _not _insane, simply scarred, and a bit paranoid. I explain to him my new friendship with Gale and the partnership we've established, excited that I now have something else to keep my mind from dwelling on Wiress. I feel a bit guilty thinking this way, but I reason that I have to if I'm to play my part in ending this war, which could very well lead to her release. Dr. Aurelius agrees with this line of thinking.

_I'll make everything up to you, my dear_, I think to myself as if Wiress can hear me from wherever she is. _Be strong, love_. _I'll make it all worthwhile_. _I promise_.

Dinner is substandard, as always, but my state of mind is too serene to be bothered by it. As I return to Special Defense to work a bit with the Airtime Assault team—a group of fellow technology experts who will assist me in broadcasting the propos throughout Panem—I realize that I'm humming one of the old nursery rhymes Wiress always sings when she works. Though I know it can't be true, I tell myself that she's trying to send me a message this way, even across our distance. I can almost hear her whispering in my ear. "_I'll be strong, love_," dream-Wiress murmurs. "_And no matter what they do, __the worst torture of all is being apart from you_."

Logic tells me that telepathy is impossible, but for once, I shove aside that notion and cling to my fantasy for dear life, secretly dreading the moment I'll eventually have to let go.

* * *

**:) Beetee and Gale are friends now. Yay! I don't write Gale often either, so any assurance that he isn't OOC—or even help on how to improve that, as I'll have to write him more later—will be helpful. We don't see much of Dr. Aurelius, but I hope he was in-character as well. The same goes for Katniss, despite having only two or three non-canon lines. And as always, leave a review and I'll update ASAP!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	7. Chapter 7

**It's the Chapter 7 drinking game! Take a drink every time Beetee blushes! :3 (Don't really...just a joke, people. You can't leave a good review unless you're sober!) And speaking of reviews, thank you to **_Delilah's Soliloquy _**for hers!**

**This chapter is a bit short compared to the recent ones, but I didn't want to pack too much into it and leave it all out-of-place and clunky. :) So enjoy—and leave a review upon completion!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

* * *

My communicuff starts beeping the next morning at around nine o'clock. I adjust my glasses and peer at its message:

_REPORT TO COMMAND_

Confused, I explain to the rest of the Airtime Assault time where I'm going and exit Special Defense. On my way, I find Finnick and Dalton, a refugee from 10. "Do either of you know where Command is?" I ask.

"We're heading there right now," says Dalton. Seeming a bit distracted, Finnick nods in assent. "Follow us."

Finnick wheels me alongside Dalton. At first, I'm perplexed as to why—Finnick isn't an unkind person, but we've never exactly seen eye-to-eye—but he then bows his head and whispers, "I'm sorry. I tried to stop her, but she ran off. By the time I went after her, she was gone."

It takes me a moment to realize what he's referring to. Oh. The arena. When I asked him to keep an eye on Wiress. Even if I bore any resentment toward Finnick for letting her out of his sight—and I don't—the sight of his face, permanently twisted in sadness like the rope he always carries, would make any anger feel unjust on my part. I reach around and pat his hand in assurance. "Don't be," I say. "I...I understand."

Finnick is silent for the remainder of the way to Command. If Dalton doesn't know what we're talking about—which he probably doesn't—he pretends he does to keep either Finnick or me from giving a painful explanation.

Command turns out to be a glorified boardroom. The walls, however, are decorated with extravagant control consoles that I immediately want to take apart to look at their interiors; however, Dalton, Finnick, and I are already the last ones here, so I put the notion at rest and look toward the head of the table—and waiting to greet us is not President Coin, as I'd thought, but Haymitch.

He welcomes all of us in the most polite voice I've ever heard him use—it still sounds rather gruff, but it's extraordinary for him—and begins his presentation by showing the propo filmed yesterday. A woman stands in the middle of a simulated battle, bandaged and bloody but nonetheless ferocious, fiery, sexy, even. I peer closer, and I emit a small yelp upon realizing that she's _Katniss_.

Did I really just call a seventeen-year-old girl sexy? Perhaps I should spend more time with my psychiatrist.

I tug my shirtcollar up to my burning ears and continue watching the screen. Smoke rises from Katniss's costume; at first, I'm impressed, but then I realize that despite how attractive they've made her (_Quit that, Beetee! Pedophilia is wrong!_) I notice how...disjointed she seems. She reminds me of a doll, a marionette. Her voice is just as unnatural. "People of Panem," she screeches, sounding horribly pitchy, "we fight, we dare, we end our hunger for justice!"

Mercifully, the truly disastrous propo ends and Haymitch addresses us. "Alright. Would anyone like to argue that this is of use to us in winning the war?" After the predictable silence, he says, "That saves time. So, let's all be quiet for a minute. I want everyone to think of one incident where Katniss Everdeen genuinely moved you. Not where you were jealous of her hairstyle, or her dress went up in flames or she made a halfway decent shot with an arrow. Not where Peeta was making you like her. I want to hear one moment where she made you feel something real."

I feel sorry for Katniss because of the silence that follows. _Oh, come on_, I think, _she isn't _that _bad! _Finally, just as I'm about to speak, a girl Katniss's age from 12—I believe her name is Leevy—says, "When she volunteered to take Prim's place at the reaping. Because I'm sure she thought she was going to die."

Haymitch nods. "Good. Excellent example." He jots it down on a notepad, muttering, "Volunteered for sister at reaping." Afterward, he looks around. "Somebody else."

Boggs, a commander from 13, says, "When she sang the song. While the little girl died."

I remember that. In her first Games, the 74th, Katniss held the twelve-year-old girl from District 11, Rue, in her arms and crooned to her in her final moments. Wiress cried for a week afterward. The memory is making me teary as well.

As if hearing my thoughts, Haymitch says, "Who _didn't _get choked up at that, right?"

A member of Katniss's prep team with pale green skin suddenly yelps, "I cried when she drugged Peeta so she could go get him medicine and when she kissed him goodbye!" Quickly, she covers her mouth, but Haymitch nods in approval.

"Oh, yeah. Drugs Peeta to save his life. Very nice." He scribbles this down.

Remembering Wiress's sentiment toward Rue, I say, "When she became allies with that girl from Eleven. Rue."

"When she tried to carry Mags," Finnick almost whispers.

"When she said she was like her father," says a cook from 12, Greasy Sae. At the confused looks, she elaborates. "In the arena. When she and Peeta bathed and bandaged the inventor from Three."

"That inventor from Three is sitting right here," I interject, waving. "Hello, there."

Suddenly, I recall that moment with astonishing clarity and remember another detail—during the aforementioned bath and bandaging, I was stark naked on national television. And I'm almost positive that everyone else has been reminded of that as well. My ears flame scarlet once more and I try to make myself appears a small as possible.

The moments continue pouring in with more speed as people become more sure of themselves. Soon, Haymitch's notepad is full, and he holds it up for inspection. "So," he says, "the question is, what do all of these have in common?"

Gale speaks up. "They were Katniss's. No one told her what to do or say."

"Unscripted, yes!" I say. I put my hand over Katniss's for a moment. "So we should just leave you alone, right?"

Though I'm serious, my words are deemed amusing. Even Katniss smiles, albeit weakly.

"Well, that's all very nice but not very helpful. Unfortunately, her opportunities for being wonderful are rather limited here in Thirteen," snaps Fulvia Cardew. "So unless you're suggesting we toss her into the middle of combat—"

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting," Haymitch interrupts. "Put her out in the field and just keep the cameras rolling."

"But people think she's pregnant," Gale mentions.

"We'll spread the word that she lost the baby from the electrical shock in the arena. Very sad. Very unfortunate," says Plutarch, shaking his head.

I blink in surprise, as do a few others—until now, we'd believed Peeta was telling the truth when he said Katniss was pregnant. In the trauma of the past few weeks, I'd forgotten.

Arguments arise, particularly from those of 13. "Every time we coach her or give her lines, the best we can hope for is okay," Haymitch insists. "It has to come from her. That's what people are responding to."

"Even if we're careful," says Boggs, "we can't guarantee her safety. She'll be a target for every—"

Katniss interrupts. "I want to go. I'm no help to the rebels here."

"And if you're killed?" Coin asks.

"Make sure you get some footage," she replies. "You can use that, anyway."

"Fine," Coin relents. "But let's take it one step at a time. Find the least dangerous situation that can evoke some spontaneity in you." After observing the maps lining the walls, she says, "Take her into Eight this afternoon. There was heavy bombing this morning, but the raid seems to have run its course. I want her armed with a squad of bodyguards. Camera crew on the ground. Haymitch, you'll be airborne and in contact with her. Let's see what happens there. Does anyone have any other comments?"

"Wash her face," says Dalton. "She's still a girl and you made her look thirty-five. Feels wrong. Like something the Capitol would do."

"Yeah, we want her as an icon for the rebellion, not as sex object for lonely middle-aged men," Finnick mutters with a hint of his old smirk. Upon remembering my opinion of Katniss's appearance before realizing her identity, I redden once more and look away.

About an hour after we disperse, I meet with Katniss to help her into her Mockingjay armor—helmet, vest, earpiece, face mask, the works. I finish by attaching a quiver of arrows divided into three separate cylinders onto her back. "Just remember: Right side, fire. Left side, explosive. Center, regular. You shouldn't need them, but better safe than sorry."

After Boggs escorts Katniss to where the hovercraft waits, I return to Special Weaponry. Just a few minutes later, however, I'm alerted by a knock on the workroom door. "Come in," I call.

To my surprise, Finnick enters, still seeming distracted but a bit excited as well. "Hey," he says.

"Hello," I reply, perplexed.

"Katniss told me to come here." He continues twisting and untwisting the rope in his hands. "You have something for me. A trident."

"Oh, yes," I remember. "Yes, I do." I wheel out of the room and beckon Finnick to follow. The two of us meander into the armory after undergoing security and I retrieve his trident. After draping it in a blanket to keep it a surprise, I return to Finnick and hold it out. His old self shining through, he takes it from my hands as if it's his own child and removes the blanket with care; I listen in relish to his gasp of delight.

"Oh, wow," he whispers. He runs his fingers up the shaft. "This...this is..."

"Not all," I finish. I withdraw the matching metal cuff from my pocket and affix it on his wrist. Finnick looks at it in confusion and I wheel toward the target range, waving him forward. "See that target?" Finnick nods. "Hit it," I instruct.

With a grin, Finnick tosses his trident at the target and is rewarded with the dull thud of impact.

"Now press the button on your wrist," I say.

Finnick does so and beams even more when his trident returns to him. "That's amazing!"

"Thank you," I reply, also grinning. "The last part took quite a bit of tinkering to perfect; I kept nearly taking my own head off."

I beam at the sound of Finnick's laugh, glad that he's getting back to his old self. Perhaps this is a sign that we're friends. "Beetee," says Finnick, holding his trident, "thanks. This is...well, it's amazing. I'm so happy I could kiss you right now."

I blink. "Um...no, thank you."

Letting his eyelids droop, Finnick croons, "You sure?"

Reddening, I drop my gaze and stammer, "Y-yes. I'm quite sure, F-Finnick."

He laughs. "Making you blush is fun."

Of course, his acknowledgement of my blush only makes the color more prominent. Finnick chortles. "Come on, we're wanted in Command."

"Are we really? Or are just taking me to your lair?"

Again, Finnick laughs. "I don't have a lair, though I'm looking into it," he says. Lowering his voice, he murmurs, "Would you really mind being in my lair, Beetee?"

"Yes, I would!"

Laughing, he wheels me down the hallway, and though my face takes quite some time to revert to its normal color, I realize that, no matter how crude he is, Finnick Odair has just become my friend. This makes me smile.

"Hey, Beetee?" says Finnick.

"Yes?"

"Humans are from Earth, Martians are from Mars, but I can see something that rhymes with Venus," he says.

Perplexed, I say, "What?"

"Check your zipper," he mutters.

Scarlet-faced, I feverishly do as he says and hiss, "You had to put it like that?"

"I could have let President Coin tell you," he says fairly, grinning.

I sigh. "Do you _enjoy _tormenting me?"

"Indeed I do."

"My crude, crude friend," I say, shaking my head. I sneak a glance to see if he disagrees with this. Finnick just counters with, "My nerdy, socially awkward friend."

So we _are _friends. Another thing to add to the good things in my life as of now. If I continue this positive line of thinking, the time will fly and Wiress will be free before I know it. Blocking out the multitude of nightmarish images that remembering her capture conjures, I find a smile and wheel myself into Command behind my new friend.

* * *

**Perhaps we should change it to "take a drink every time _Finnick makes _Beetee blush." :) I hope he didn't seem OOC—he seemed to get happy quickly to me, but he does love tridents and humiliating his new friend! Then again, making Beetee blush is almost as much fun as making Katniss blush. :)**

**Don't forget to leave a review! And hopefully, you learned two things—pedophilia is wrong (though I sincerely hope you already knew that O.o) and a new way to tell someone their fly is down!**

**And: the hilarious moment when _Katniss _is deemed misspelled by your computer and the correction is _fatness_. XD**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	8. Chapter 8

**Before I begin Chapter 8, I would like to thank **_Savysnape7_**, **_Delilah's Soliloquy_**, and **_randomgirl333 _**for reviewing! Not only that, I'd like to give an extra special thanks to **_randomgirl333 _**for adding this story to her Alerts _and _Favorites! :) Your support is appreciated! :D**

**Now, on with the chapter! :) **

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

* * *

When Finnick and I arrive in Command ("Stop fidgeting!" he hisses. "Your zipper's fine!"), we discover that we're accompanied by President Coin, a few of her soldiers, Fulvia Cardew, and Plutarch. "What's this?" Finnick asks.

"Viewing the Mockingjay's progress in Eight," says Coin. She beckons us forward; the individual screens decorating the large table are united into one large screen, and from it, we have a clear image of Katniss speaking to Boggs. Someone adjusts the speakers, and we can hear Katniss's voice as well.

"This won't work. I won't be good here," she says.

If Coin had been drinking anything, she surely would have spat out in shock. Plutarch approaches her before she blows her top and says, "Calm down. Just let Boggs do his thing."

Not for the first time, Haymitch is right. Bogg's next words are, "You will. Just let them see you. That will do more for them than any doctor in the world could."

Relaxing a bit, Coin says stiffly, "This isn't airing live, as we'll actually be cutting the propo together. Including her best moments, leaving out her..._not_-so-best moments." Something tells me _not-so-best _was not her first choice of words.

"Will I be doing the cutting, ma'am?" I ask.

Coin seems surprised at the sound of my voice. "No," she says. "A member of Katniss's camera crew will be doing that. All you have to do is air it. Once we've completed it." I nod. "That is, if she actually manages to give us some good footage this time," she adds in an undertone.

An unfamiliar woman appears on the screen. "That," says Coin, hardly hiding her disgust, "is Commander Paylor."

"She seems a bit young to be a commander," I comment. She's at least five years younger than thirty-nine-year-old Wiress, but probably even younger. Aggravated, Coin says, "Exactly. She hardly knows what she's doing. We can only hope she doesn't ruin anything."

This portrait of Paylor's character seems a bit unjust to me. Sure, she's a bit young in years, but she certainly seems a formidable commander. As I glance at Coin from underneath my glasses, I decide that her dislike of Paylor is more personal than Paylor simply being too young.

"Been in recovery," Boggs says, explaining Katniss's prior whereabouts. "Bad concussion." Lowering his voice, he adds, "Miscarriage. But she insisted on coming by to see your wounded."

"Well," says Paylor wryly, "we've got plenty of those."

"You think this is a good idea?" Gale asks with a frown. "Assembling your wounded like this?" The camera cuts to a large warehouse with an _H _painted clumsily over the top.

"See what I mean?" says Coin. "Disease will swarm through that hospital like a hive of tracker jackers." One of her soldiers nods stiffly in assent.

As I watch Gale's face and let my eyes travel over the makeshift hospital, it hits me like a kick in the stomach and I swallow back bile. "He isn't talking about disease," I say, but one of Coin's soldiers hisses, "Shh!" I fall silent.

"I think it's slightly better than leaving them to die," Paylor is saying.

"That's not what I meant," Gale replies.

"Well, currently that's my other option," says Paylor. "But if you come up with a third and get Coin to back it, I'm all ears. Come on in, Mockingjay. And by all means, bring your friends."

If the situation was amusing in the slightest, I would beg someone for a camera to take a picture of Coin's face right now. I can almost hear her thinking, "Oh, _no_, she didn't!" But as soon as the camera enters the hospital and I catch a glimpse of the wounded, any sort of smile is wiped from my face.

Buzzing. Moaning. Weeping. At first, the camera has to adjust to the dim light, so this is all we experience. But after a moment, we see it. People lying on cots, pallets, on the floor. Blood gushing from poorly bandaged wounds. Flies feeding on those too weak to fight. Shrapnel imbedded in flesh. Burns. All sorts of burns. Suddenly, I'm reminded of the factory accidents that occur in 3. A misplaced glass of water is all that was needed to short a circuit and cause a flame—and once the fire had begun, the phrase _spread like wildfire _would be cruelly accurate. Soon, the entire building would simply explode. There have been three in my lifetime, and when the survivors were brought from the building, they were brought to town square and organized like this. As I watch the camera navigate through the hospital, I have to look away because the situation simply hits too close to home. Finnick puts a hand over my wrist and raises an eyebrow, but I only shake my head, too woeful to give an explanation.

Finally, after about a half an hour, Coin says, "Well, I'm surprised at her success. I suppose Mr. Abernathy is of use after all."

I certainly don't count Haymitch as my friend, but the knowledge that he is the one who reminded me of my incentive to continue fighting makes me scowl at such degradation. I can't muster a retort, however, because Coin is suddenly staring at a map of District 8. Twelve blinking red dots in a V-shape are approaching the blinking blue square I assume is the hospital. Gale was right. I wish I could look away again, but this time, my eyes are glued to the screen.

"Soldier Naysmith, send a message to Commander Boggs and let them know that Capitol hoverplanes are approaching quickly," Coin barks at one of her soldiers.

Nodding, the soldier called Naysmith does so. The camera crew, Katniss, Gale, and Boggs depart for the airstrip, but then the hoverplanes appear.

And the bombs seem to rain down from heaven itself.

"Katniss!" Haymitch's voice, heavily layered with static, reaches us through the speakers.

"What? Yes, what? I'm here!" she says.

"Listen to me. We can't land during the bombing, but it's imperative you're not spotted."

"So they don't know I'm here?"

"Intelligence thinks no. That this raid was already scheduled," says Haymitch.

"We need to get them out of there!" Coin yells.

"Yes, ma'am," says Plutarch. He fiddles with a headset attached to one side of his face and says, "There's a light blue warehouse three down from you. It has a bunker in the far north corner. Can you get there?"

"We'll do our best," says Boggs.

"You've got maybe forty-five seconds to the next wave," Plutarch replies.

I'm dizzy from watching the commotion as Katniss, Gale, Boggs, and the camera crew struggle to reach the safe point. Suddenly, Gale yells, "They're targeting the hospital!"

_Oh, no_. _Why must my intuition be so accurate?_

"Not your problem," Plutarch says into his headset. "Get to the bunker."

"But there's nothing there but the wounded!" Katniss argues.

Haymitch must realize what she's planning. "Katniss, don't you even think about—Katniss? Katniss!"

"What's wrong?" Plutarch asks, alarmed.

"She took her earpiece out!" Haymitch fumes. "Just _wait _until I get ahold of her after this..."

I'm suddenly terrified _for _Katniss.

"We need to get them out of there!" Coin repeats. "It isn't safe! She'll get herself killed! She can't die yet!"

Everyone stares upon hearing the word _yet_, but Coin ignores us and begins tinkering with some controls. As we watch, Katniss and Gale load fire-tipped arrows and begin shooting at the hoverplanes. When another wave appears, they use explosive-tipped arrows and take down three hoverplanes. Coin seems furious.

"Who armed them with explosives?!" she demands.

Whistling tunelessly, I slink down in my seat to appear as small and non-threatening as possible, but of course, Coin notices. "Beetee," she says, "did _you _arm Katniss and Gale with _explosives_?"

"It is a possibility that I may have done something of the sort," I mutter, reddening.

She seems about ready to wring my neck. Plutarch is in a similar state of agitation. "Cressida," he says into his headset, "get them to a hovercraft, _now_! It isn't safe!"

"I don't care, Plutarch! Just give me five more minutes!" the director shouts.

Katniss takes off toward the hospital—now only a flaming pile of debris. I recall the faces of some of the wounded Katniss interacted and realize with a pang that they're all dead.

"Yes," Katniss whispers. I didn't catch what she's agreeing to, but Coin stops just before she begins chewing me out and gives Katniss her attention. "Yes," Katniss repeats. "I want to tell the rebels that I am alive. That I'm right here in District Eight, where the Capitol has just bombed a hospital full of unarmed men, women, and children. There will be no survivors. I want to tell people that if you think for one second the Capitol will treat us fairly if there's a cease-fire, you're deluding yourself. Because you know who they are and what they do. This is what they do! And we must fight back!"

We all watch with rapt attention, even Coin. "President Snow says he's sending us a message?" Katniss continues. "Well, I have one for him. You can torture us and bomb us and burn our districts to the ground, but do you see that?" One of the cameras follows as I point to the planes burning on the roof of the warehouse across from us. The Capitol seal on a wing glows clearly through the flames. "Fire is catching! And if we burn, you burn with us!"

Her words hang in midair. After a short period of silence, Finnick begins clapping, simple and slow. I follow suit. Then Plutarch, then sour-faced Fulvia, albeit reluctantly. Coin's soldiers begin after a moment. And finally, the president herself applauds the Mockingjay as well. "Well, Beetee," she says to me, "I suppose your stupid decision to arm a seventeen-year-old girl with explosives was not as stupid as I originally thought."

I blink. "Um...thank you?"

She ignores this and adjourns the meeting. Finnick, having nothing else to do, follows me to Special Defense. "Katniss did marvelously, didn't she?" I say.

"I suppose so." He seems a bit troubled, probably by all the carnage we just witnessed. As we reach the door to one of the workrooms, he says suddenly, "I'm just worried that Snow isn't going to choose _us _as the ones to burn."

Finnick turns and walks away with his words hanging between us like a cloud of smoke. Dark, ominous, and threatening.

* * *

**What do you think Finnick meant? As always, feedback would be greatly appreciated!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	9. Chapter 9

**This chapter is a bit short, but next one will be longer. :) Enjoy!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

* * *

"_I'm just worried that Snow isn't going to choose _us_ as the ones to burn_."

Finnick's cryptic words echo in my mind for the rest of the day. I try not to focus on them—a distraction arrives in the form of Messalla, a member of Katniss's camera crew, giving me the tape of the first propo—but as the Airtime Assault team and I air it at eight o'clock, as we continue replaying it to assure that not one person in Panem doesn't see it, as I listen to Katniss cry out, "If we burn, you burn with us!" I'm haunted by Finnick's message once again.

"_I'm just worried that Snow isn't going to choose _us_ as the ones to burn_."

I'm unable to override the Capitol's broadcast network, but the other twelve—_Eleven_, I remind myself, _District 12 is gone—_districts have seen it, including 2, which, according to Plutarch, is even more valuable than the moment. I stay in Special Defense through the night, replaying and replaying until finally, after rerun number seventeen, someone tells me to go home and go to bed. Gratefully, I do so, too exhausted for nightmares. When I wake at ten o'clock—my body loudly protests my sleeping through breakfast—I find a small notecard taped outside my door. I peel it off and read it.

_Keep up the good work!_

– _PH_

I smile a bit at Plutarch's corniness before I return to Special Defense. Though all I did was air one propo—with help, I might add—I'm treated sort of like a hero. I'm grinning like a fool from all the praise by the time Gale joins me in Special Weaponry. "Just don't let it go to your head, four-eyes," he says with a smirk. I'm in too good a mood to do anything but laugh.

He eventually leaves to film interviews about the bombing in 8, and soon, we have another propo to air. Gale returns to watch with mild interest as I break into the Capitol's broadcast network, and afterward, when I'm about to invite him to eat with me while we discuss one of his newest ideas, he puts a hand on my shoulders and stays me. Gale's fingernails dig in and I wince. "What?" I ask. He jabs at the screen with his index finger, and when I turn to look at it, I realize what he's trying to show me.

Caesar Flickerman holding another interview with Peeta Mellark.

One aired a few days ago, but then, Peeta looked perfectly healthy. Now, he's shaking like a leaf and has lost at least ten pounds, if not more. His eyes are ringed with violet patches and every little moment seems to hurt. Gale emits an audible gasp, as do quite a few others.

_They easily could have filmed that other interview ahead of time_, I realize. _And then began interrogating him_.

"So, Peeta," says Caesar, "rumor has it that Katniss Everdeen is filming rebel propaganda. Is there anything you would like to say about that?"

"They're using her, obviously. To whip up the rebels," says Peeta. "I doubt she even really knows what's going on in the war. What's at stake."

"Is there anything you'd like to tell her?" asks Caesar.

"There is," says Peeta. "Don't be a fool, Katniss. Think for yourself. They've turned you into a weapon that could be instrumental in the destruction of humanity. If you've got any real influence, use it to put the brakes on this thing. Use it to stop the war before it's too late. Ask yourself, do you really trust the people you're working with? Do you really know what's going on? And if you don't…find out."

The show ends.

I can only imagine how Katniss is taking this. Does she even know? If she doesn't, she needs to. I immediately turn my chair around and begin wheeling toward the door. "I have to tell Katniss—"

"No!" Gale shouts. He stands in front of the door, blocking my path. "You can't!"

"Gale, she has to know—"

"It's only going to upset her," he insists. "She's so damaged to begin with. Please, for me. Don't tell her. Keep this between us. Okay?"

I sigh. "I don't like this one bit, Gale."

"But you'll keep it a secret anyway?"

With another sigh, I say, "Yes."

Relieved, Gale departs. Having lost my appetite, I return to my compartment, bathe, and fall asleep. As I expected, Wiress haunts my dreams, as does my promise to her.

"_I'm getting you out of here one way or another_."

I don't realize I'm crying until my pillowcase is wet and tastes like salt.

* * *

Katniss and Gale depart for the ruins of District 12 to film a propo a few days later. I receive a message from Plutarch bearing what should be good news—District 3 has been taken by the rebels. My homeland is in the hands of the freedom fighters. Why, then, am I so melancholy?

After lunch, Finnick joins me in Special Defense and watches as I essentially dawdle around. With no new footage to air, I have nothing to do. The Airtime Assault team and I have lately been working out ways to break into the Capitol's broadcast network, but at the moment, I'm just not up for it. The silence between Finnick and me is uncomfortable, even awkward. I want to ask him what he meant the other day, but he seems to distracted.

Finally, I say, "You saw it, then. The interview with Peeta."

"Yeah. Me and Katniss." He shoots me a look. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Gale. He didn't want Katniss to know. He was worried it would upset her," I explain.

Sighing, Finnick says, "I don't think she likes being lied to."

"No one does."

After a pause, Finnick murmurs, "If Peeta is that bad, what do you suppose Annie is like, Beetee? What about Johanna? What about—" The look on my face, guilty and terrified, silences him. "I'm sorry," he says.

"Don't be," I mutter, looking away. "Sometimes I wonder, too. What they could be doing to her. What I should have protected her from."

Finnick's eyes widen. "There was nothing—"

"I could have protected her, Finnick. Like I promised," I interrupt. "I swore I would protect her at any cost, but I couldn't protect her when she was nearly killed at the Cornucopia. Later on, I couldn't protect her when she was collected by the Capitol. They took her from under my feet." Looking away again, I add in a murmur, "And I hate myself for it."

He lays a hand on mine. "Don't blame yourself. Blame them. It's _their _fault, not yours. Don't let guilt eat away at you. It's exactly what they want to happen."

With these words, just as cryptic as his previous, Finnick leaves.

* * *

I try to take Finnick's advice. Once again, I bury myself in my work to keep my mind from dwelling on Wiress. The others members of the Airtime Assault team mistake this as determination, and I'm not going to be the one to correct them. With my newfound fervor, we soon develop what we think is a way to break into the feed nationwide. This gives me a kind of excitement I know very well—it's similar to the feeling I get when an invention works. Eagerly, I tell Finnick the good news, and before long, I'm in Special Defense watching the Capitol seal and anthem on a large television screen.

Typing, configuring, hacking. I wipe sweat from my hairline, muttering under my breath, cursing when the words _Access Denied _appear over and over again. But finally, finally, when I hit one last key, Katniss appears on the screen in the ruins of District 12's bakery.

There's no time to cheer down here, though I'm sure some sort of celebration is happening in Command, where Finnick, Katniss, Boggs, Plutarch, and a few others are gathered. The battle between the Capitol's own broadcast team and ours reminds me of a childish game of tug-of-war, though there's nothing childish about it. When the Capitol regains control, pandemonium reigns. Snow tells everyone that the broadcast will resume when security has been reinstated. "Peeta," he flares, "do you have any parting thoughts for Katniss Everdeen?"

He takes a deep breath, his eyes crazed. "Katniss…how do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you…in Thirteen…dead by morning!"

"End it!" Snow demands.

I freeze, hands still poised over the keyboard. Blood sprays across the floor as Peeta is struck. The rest of the team is in a panic about Peeta's words. But I'm frozen. Something hits me. Finnick's words from the other day.

"_I'm just worried that Snow isn't going to choose _us_ as the ones to burn_."

The praise. Everyone crediting me. Surely Snow knows this as well. Wiress is in his hands. I have just broken into the Capitol's broadcast network. He is angry. Someone must be punished.

"_I'm just worried that Snow isn't going to choose _us_ as the ones to burn_."

Someone has to be punished. Someone has to burn. I am out of his reach, safe in 13.

_But Wiress isn't_.

Tears pool in my eyes and stream down my cheeks. The room is almost empty; everyone is evacuating. I stare at my trembling hands.

_What have I done?_

* * *

**While Beetee's having his moment, be sure to leave a review! :) I'll update ASAP. **

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	10. Chapter 10

**Thirteen's about to blow-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh! Blow-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh! Thirteen's about to blow-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh! Blow-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh! Thirteen's about to—*talking quickly* Explode, so be sure to leave a review before it goes ka-boom! :)**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

* * *

I don't know what's louder—the sound of the sirens or Wiress's screams in my ears. She's being tortured right now. I'm sure of it. I eventually rise and ignore the sounds altogether, curling up in a corner. This isn't a drill; I need to leave. But I don't want to. I want to die, and I want it to be painful so that I know what Wiress is enduring.

Footsteps approach and I look up. Finnick grasps my wrists and hoists me to my feet; it would probably be easier to tote me along if I still had my wheelchair, but according to the doctor who's been keeping tabs on me, I don't need it anymore. Finnick curses this under his breath as he tries to drag a sobbing, non-complying me out of Special Defense.

"Finnick! Beetee!" Boggs's voice reaches me through my despair. "What are you two doing here? Come on!"

"Beetee, use your legs!" Finnick orders. I'm yanked out of my stupor slightly by the palm of his hand striking my face with such force I nearly topple to the ground. At any rate, it's enough to bring me to my senses, and with the help of Finnick and Boggs, we make it to the bunker in record timing.

Finnick more or less drags me to his space—labeled with an 86 for his compartment number—and deposits me on the lower bunk, sitting beside me and grasping my shoulder. "What's gotten into you?" he asks. I'm not entirely capable of speaking just yet. "You can talk to me," says Finnick. He moves his hand to my back and slowly rubs up and down, keeping his voice soothing as he speaks. "It's Wiress, isn't it?"

Nodding, I manage to stammer, "He knows it was me."

Finnick doesn't have to ask who _he _is.

"And n-now, he'll p-p-punish Wiress f-for it." I bury my face in my hands again and continue to weep.

Finnick doesn't say anything. He doesn't assure me that Wiress will be fine. He doesn't tell me to get over it. He just wraps his arms around me and lets me cry against his shoulder, not caring that people can see, not caring that there will be at least _one _person curious about our respective sexualities. Finnick Odair, who I thought was a vain, egotistical, narcissistic womanizer, holds me while I cry. And only now can I really appreciate how good a person he truly is, how much he really understands me.

Finally, after almost ten minutes of this, he pulls away and crosses over to a large storage cube. He withdraws a laminated paper, reads it, and says, "I need to go to some Supply Station and get our packs."

"But I don't l-live here," I say thickly, removing my glasses and wiping stray tears from my eyes.

"You do now," Finnick replies, wandering off. He returns about ten minutes later with two backpacks; after removing the supplies, he returns the packs and says, "I get the top bunk."

"Okay." I wouldn't be able to climb up there, anyway. We store the clothes, make our beds, and then Plutarch approaches us, his blithe smile vanishing at the look on my face. Immediately, he kneels beside me and asks, "Beetee, what's wrong?"

_What's wrong? How can he even _ask _what's wrong? _Something about his innocent inquiry makes my eyes glaze over with tears again, and Finnick shoots him a look as his arms encircle me once more. "Beetee thinks Snow is going to hurt Wiress because he broke into the Capitol's broadcast feed," he explains to Plutarch. Before Plutarch can say anything potentially damaging, Finnick says, "Maybe you should go."

Nodding, Plutarch does so. After I finish crying—again—I give Finnick a sheepish look and try halfheartedly to make a joke. "I've just soaked your shirt through," I say. "Pathetic, isn't it?"

"No," says Finnick. He smiles slightly. "What do you think I did for the first month here?"

This makes us both laugh for whatever reason. After we're given a restroom break, Finnick takes out his rope, sits on the floor with his back propped up by the wall, and I watch him make knots all night long. This continues for the next few days until he finally says that I need to sleep. I crawl under the blankets and stare at the wall, my glasses at my side, breathing evenly so that Finnick thinks I've done as he asked. Soon enough, footsteps approach, and Katniss's voice reaches me through the semi-darkness. "Is that...?"

"Beetee. Yeah," says Finnick. "He broke down after the broadcast. He...he thinks Snow's going to hurt Wiress because he broke in."

"That's why you ran off like that when the sirens starting sounding. You knew he'd lose it," she infers.

"Yeah."

There's a small pause. "I don't know if they're doing that with Wiress," whispers Katniss, "but that's how Snow is using Peeta."

Finnick doesn't respond.

"This is what they're doing to you with Annie, isn't it?" she asks.

"Well, they didn't arrest her because they thought she'd be a wealth of rebel information," he answers. "They know I'd never have risked telling her anything like that. For her own protection."

"Oh, Finnick," says Katniss. "I'm so sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," Finnick says. "That I didn't warn you somehow."

"You did warn me, though. On the hovercraft. Only when you said they'd use Peeta against me, I thought you meant like bait. To lure me into the Capitol somehow," Katniss replies.

"I shouldn't have said even that. It was too late for it to be of any help to you. Since I hadn't warned you before the Quarter Quell, I should've shut up about how Snow operates. It's just that I didn't understand when I met you. After your first Games, I thought the whole romance was an act on your part. We all expected you'd continue that strategy. But it wasn't until Peeta hit the force field and nearly died that I—" Finnick breaks off.

"That you what?"

"That I knew I'd misjudged you," says Finnick. "That you do love him. I'm not saying in what way. Maybe you don't know yourself. But anyone paying attention could see how much you care about him."

Feigning sleep, I listen attentively to this conversation. Silence stretches out between them until Katniss asks, "How do you bear it?"

"I don't, Katniss! Obviously, I don't. I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there's no relief in waking."

_You and I both, Finnick_, I think sadly.

"Better not to give in to it," he says after a pause. "It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart. The more you can distract yourself, the better. First thing tomorrow, we'll get you your own rope. Until then, take mine."

Footsteps. Finnick exhales. "You can stop pretending to be asleep," he says to me. "She's gone."

I peel away my blanket, not caring that Finnick saw through my act all along, and say, "You think I'm right, don't you? About..."

I don't finish. It's too unbearable to voice aloud. But Finnick simply nods and climbs into his own bed. "They don't call you a genius for nothing, Beetee."

I must make some sound of sorrow or fear, because Finnick then says, "I'll help you through it, though. We'll help each other. Friends."

"Friends," I repeat. I close my eyes, and behind my closed lids dance images of Wiress—not of her being tortured, but of her before the Quell. Smiling, laughing, singing. I remember what Dr. Aurelius said—juxtapose the good with the bad. Wiress is in the Capitol. Wiress is alive. I'll see her again. And until then, I have Finnick to keep me company in my darkest hours. This thoughts are enough for me to release my guard and fall asleep.

* * *

President Coin announces that we can leave the bunker the next day. Everyone must be assigned new compartments because our old ones were obliterated. Finnick has to leave to film a propo, but he's sure to insist that we share one. "We're taking care of each other now," he says.

Nodding, I request a compartment to share with him when the time arises. I get a few pointed looks, but soon, I'm taking our belongings to Compartment 2393. My schedule tells me I'm supposed to report to Special Defense, as is the norm, but I end up spending the day in bed instead. I wake to violent shaking, and with a startled cry, I open my eyes and find Plutarch standing over me. I'm afraid he's going to chew me out for not going to Special Defense, but instead he says quietly, "Come with me."

He takes me to the hospital of all places. When we're standing outside the door, he says, "Finnick and Katniss are in there. During the filming yesterday, they both, um...well, they lost it, to put it simply. Hysteria. They've been sedated."

"Why did you bring me here, then?" I ask.

"You can comfort Finnick when he wakes," he says. "But there's something else." Plutarch takes a breath. "We're doing it. Today."

"Doing what?" I whisper. I think I know what, but I have to hear it.

"We're going to rescue the captured victors today," says Plutarch. "Peeta, Wiress, Johanna, and Annie."

"You're getting her out?"

"Yes," says Plutarch with a smile. "With any luck, you'll see her tonight."

_Tonight_. I'll see Wiress again—I'll see her _tonight_. Struck dumb with happiness, I embrace him; Plutarch seems surprised but returns my hug nonetheless.

When I enter the hospital room and discover Katniss and Finnick still unconscious from the sedatives, I simply pull up a chair by Finnick's bed, gently pull the rope free from his hand, and start tying some of the knots I picked up during the bombing. By tonight, Wiress will be free. By tonight, she'll be with me again, traumatized, scarred for life, but alive, alive, alive. And safe. Safe with me. By tonight, I'll be able to hold her again. I can sing to her. Maybe she'll sing back.

By tonight, everything will be alright again.

After everything, it has to be.

* * *

**I was going to include the rescue, but I decided I'd better give it its own chapter. :) Leave a review, please—and stay tuned! **

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	11. Chapter 11

I must have fallen asleep because I'm woken by a loud gasp. My eyes open and I see Katniss staring at me from across Finnick's bed. "What are you doing here?" she asks.

"I came to see Finnick," I say. "And, um, fell asleep."

Katniss arches an eyebrow as she shakes Finnick awake. Groggily, he emerges from sleep to regard Katniss and me with irritation. "What is this, a party?" he demands, his voice heavy with sleep.

"No," says Katniss. She looks up at me. "Have you heard—?"

"About the rescue," I finish. "Yes."

Finnick's eyes widen. "Rescue?"

"They're getting them out today, Finnick," says Katniss.

"With any luck, they'll be out by tonight," I add, echoing Plutarch's words.

He smiles. At Katniss's confusion, he says, "Don't you see, Katniss, this will decide things. One way or the other. By the end of the day, they'll either be dead or with us. It's…it's more than we could hope for!"

Katniss is initially disturbed by this mindset, but she soon calms. Haymitch suddenly yanks back the curtain shielding us and says, "We've got a job for you three."

"What?" asks Finnick.

"They still need post-bombing footage of Thirteen," he says. "If we can get it in the next few hours, then Beetee, you can air it leading up to the rescue, and maybe keep the Capitol's attention elsewhere."

Though I don't see how I'll be able to work today, I nod. "Yes, a distraction. A decoy of sorts," says Finnick.

"What we really need is something so riveting that even President Snow won't be able to tear himself away. Got anything like that?" asks Haymitch.

We nod and depart to our designated areas. Finnick and I stop by out our compartment to change into fresh clothes; then, just as I'm about to go down to Special Defense, Finnick unexpectedly hugs me. "Happily-ever-after, Beetee," he says with an ironic smile. "Either way, by tonight, we'll have our happily-ever-afters."

Nodding, I descend to where my Airtime Assault team waits and take my place at one of the monitors.

The day passes with agonizing slowness. I pace the perimeter of the room so quickly that someone snaps at me to stop because I'm making them dizzy. I find Katniss and Finnick on the shooting range. I end up pacing again. They're both too distracted to notice. At seven, we return to the Airtime Assault team and I crack my knuckles, breathing deeply. _Here we go_.

With some effort, we manage to keep control for almost all of Finnick's interview—and what an interview it is. After revealing about the victor prostitution ring—something I was aware of but did not have to partake in, mercifully—he spins elaborate tales of the Capitol's sins—incest, blackmail, arson. You name it, some prominent citizen in the Capitol has committed it. Later, he tells about President Snow himself. How he rose to power through murdering his own cohorts. I was a child during this, but I suppose I must have overheard some of this because a few tidbits of information are familiar. After I throw up my hands and order the rest of the team to relinquish the broadcast back to the Capitol, I wipe my face with a cloth and mutter into it, "If they're not out of there by now, they're all dead." When I remove the cloth, I see Katniss and Finnick panicking at my words. I hasten to add, "It was a good plan, though. Did Plutarch show it to you?"

Upon hearing that he didn't, I bring them to another room and explain it to them. It's quite complicated—the power will fail, everyone will be knocked out with gas, and to distract them, the detonation of a government building and the interruption of the broadcast.

"I honestly didn't catch any of that," says Finnick.

"Good. Hopefully they won't either, then," I answer.

"Like your electricity trap in the arena?" says Katniss.

"Exactly," I say.

All we can do now is wait.

We retreat to the hummingbird room. Katniss and Finnick make knots. I pace around the room until my back starts hurting and I have to sit down. In an attempt at calming myself, I imagine bringing Wiress in here. Imagine her smiling and singing with the birds. But then I think of the songs turning to screams as she's tortured and have to stop. I avoid Katniss and Finnick. I know there's no romance whatsoever between them—there's a likelier chance of a romance between _me _and Finnick than between Katniss and Finnick—but I can't help but feel like a third wheel. I suppose it's the age difference.

Finally, at midnight, Haymitch appears. They're back. We're wanted in the hospital." Katniss seems ready to bombard him with questions when he says, "That's all I know."

I've been sitting so long that Katniss has to hoist me to my feet. Finnick seems unable to move, so Katniss takes his hand and leads him like a child. I follow suit, fidgeting more than usual. It takes an eternity to reach the hospital, and when we do, we're confronted with chaos.

Doctors are shouting orders, the wounded are being wheeled around in their hospital beds. My foot is run over by a gurney; a glance reveals a young woman with a shaved head, emaciated and almost indiscernible with her bruises and welts. I nearly vomit upon realizing her identity. Johanna Mason. Seeing her makes me want to apologize for every rude thought I've ever had about her.

Suddenly, we hear a scream—not of pain, but of delight. "Finnick!" someone cries. "Finnick!"

We look over, and immediately, Finnick beams and hurries toward the woman hurdling herself at us. A dark mess of hair, sea-green eyes, naked but for the sheet she's draped in. She throws herself into Finnick's arms. Tangled in an embrace, they collapse into a wall, devouring each other's lips with kisses and whispering love words that I don't quite catch. I smile, too happy for Finnick and the woman who must be Annie Cresta to feel self-conscious about witnessing this. What's the point? I'll probably be experiencing something of the sort in a matter of minutes. Boggs approaches us after another moment and addresses Katniss and Haymitch. "We got them all out. Except Enobaria. But since she's from Two, we doubt she's being held anyway. Peeta's at the end of the hall. The effects of the gas are just wearing off. You should be there when he wakes."

"And Wiress?" I ask, my heart racing in anticipation.

"Plutarch wants to see you" is all Boggs says.

_Why would Plutarch want to see me?_ I think as I meander through the hospital looking for him. I shake away any doubt that arises. Plutarch probably just wants to assure a private reunion since no one would want to see us kissing in public. I find him soon enough, and my heartbeat accelerates at his expression—not relieved, not happy, but reluctant, even a bit guilty. He hardly gets out my name before I attack him with questions. "Where's Wiress?" is my first one. "I want to see her."

"She's in a room down the hall," says Plutarch, but as soon as I start toward the door, he grabs my arm. "She isn't awake yet," she says.

Even better. I want the first thing she sees to be me. "No matter. I still want to see her."

"Beetee," he says, then hesitates. Finally, he pulls me into a hospital room, but I'm disappointed to discover that it's empty. He leads me over to the bed, but I don't sit down. After closing the door, Plutarch joins me.

"I want to see Wiress," I insist.

"You can't," he answers.

Alarmed, I say, "Please, I just want a quick look before—"

"You can't see her," Plutarch repeats. "I'm sorry. It's protocol."

"Protocol?" I almost scream. "The love of my life has just spent the past two months in hell and _protocol _is keeping me from seeing her?!"

"Beetee, calm down," says Plutarch wearily. Seething, I bite my tongue. "At the moment, they're only allowing women to see her."

I stare at him. "Why would they do that?" I demand. Suddenly, it hits me. Oh. _Oh_. I collapse onto the empty bed and dissolve into tears. Plutarch puts a hand on my shoulder just as I whisper, "What did they do to her?"

"A thorough examination hasn't been done," says Plutarch quietly, "but from what the doctors have gathered thus far..." He trails off, not wanting to say it. Even though I already know—because it's obvious, so damn obvious why—I insist that he tell me. "She shows multiple signs of sexual battery," he murmurs.

I speculated it, but hearing that it actually happened is so much worse. "What else?" I demand, desperate. "Please, you have to tell me everything."

"At the moment," says Plutarch, "they're testing her for anything she may have contracted and for pregnancy." He hesitates at my tortured expression. Wiress and I haven't been able to conceive a child in the twenty years we've been together. If one of the bastards who forced himself on her impregnated her, that would be the cruelest irony of them all. "They've already completed what's called a physical evidence recovery kit, or a rape kit, and...DNA from at least four different assailants has been collected."

Once again, I lapse into sobs. _Four_. At the very least, my sweet Wiress was violated in the worst way possible by _four different people_ in the course of two months.

Plutarch seems reluctant to reveal more, but I insist upon it. "We're piecing together a theory," he says, "about what was done to her. We believe that, at the beginning, the...assault...was simply a part of her torture. We know other methods were incorporated. She has burns on her arms that testify to that. But...those burns are a few weeks old. Our theory is that...is that Wiress simply would not tell them anything, either from voluntary refusal or from trauma. We think that...after that...they simply..._used _her. Not to force information out of her, but...for their own pleasure. From information we've gathered...from our spies...they took turns on her."

"What exactly," I whisper, "did they do?"

His pale face becomes white. "Beetee—"

"I have to know what I put her through," I interrupt.

"Beetee, none of this is your fault," says Plutarch.

"Tell me what they did to her," I insist. "If you know...tell me."

He sighs quietly. "They raped her, Beetee. Must you know more?"

"_Do _you know more?"

"Yes." Plutarch covers his eyes for a moment. "They...they did everything to her."

"_What did they do?_" I almost scream.

Tonelessly, Plutarch says, "It's exactly as I said. They did everything to her. They raped her as one would normally. They...they forced her to perform fellatio. They battered her, raped her with different objects. Broomsticks and things of the like." His words are soon drowned out by the sound of my sobbing. I can imagine all of it. Wiress, Wiress, my sweet little mouse, quiet and shy but sweet and loving and adorable and very, very beautiful. Wiress, with the innocence of a small child. They robbed her of that innocence, did things to her, made her do things to _them_. No wonder they won't let me see her. If she doesn't blame me for it—and she probably does, she _should—_then they're probably keeping me from her to keep memories of our own sexual relations from being conjured. Surely those memories, no matter how sweet they once were, can only alarm and terrify her now. Plutarch puts a hand on my shoulder, trying to console me, but I force a question from my lips. "How do you know?"

"How do I know what, Beetee?"

"All that they did to her."

Looking away, Plutarch says, "They've begun examining her, as I said. But...our spies...they witnessed some of it."

My sorrow is immediately dispelled by rage. "They're on _our _side?! They saw it and didn't stop it?!"

"They couldn't," Plutarch insists. "They would have blown their covers—"

"I don't give a damn about their covers!" I shout. "Those bastards used the love of my life like a sex object and all our spies did was _watch_?! They should die, all of them!"

As soon as the words have torn into space, I dissolve once more in racking sobs. It's my fault, all my fault...

"_Run!_"

_Then they took her, and she couldn't run_, I think. _And no matter how much care we give her, she'll always remember_. _She'll never be able to run away again_.

_The spies are innocent_, I realize. _It's_ me _should die for putting her through it all_.

* * *

**I'm getting the distinct feeling that my readers were expecting a happy reunion...yeah, not yet. If Wiress is going to be alive at the end of this, she and Beetee have to endure a lot of crap before they get their happily-ever-after—I'm me, for crying out loud! While Beetee cries some more, please leave a review! :) And wow, did I _really _just put a smiley face after revealing what they did to Wiress? _I _should probably see a psychiatrist...oh, well. Like I said, review, please!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	12. Chapter 12

**An enormous thank-you goes out to **_Savysnape7 _**for her multiple reviews! Follow that example, people. :) Or I'll rip out your esophagus and feed it to you. Just kidding. :) Or I'm not. You don't know. ;) Hee hee hee...I'm so scary! Sometimes I scare myself...**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

* * *

I spend at least an hour crying in that empty hospital room. My fit of hysteria is almost as bad—if not worse—than the ones that were treated with sedatives shortly after my retrieval from the arena, but the doctors are too consumed with the freed victors to do something so merciful as sedate me. I am kept awake and forced to face my sins with a clear head.

Plutarch returns and tries to console me by giving me what he deems good news. "Wiress had surgery to repair torn ligaments and tendons," he says. I look away, not wanting to think about but knowing all too well where. "She's in intensive care right now. She's got a few broken fingers, some cuts and bruises, but other than that, she's fine."

I glare at him. Wiress just spent the past two months as a virtual sex slave and Plutarch really has the audacity to call her _fine_?

"They've done blood work as well," he continues, "and no sexually transmitted viral or bacterial infections were found. She isn't pregnant, either." At my dull, pained expression, Plutarch says, "That's good, Beetee."

"It's good that the only things she'll have to deal with are the psychological aspects and the memories?" I ask rhetorically.

Not noticing my tone, Plutarch says, "Yes, it is."

I have the sudden impulse to wring his neck.

Shortly after Plutarch leaves, Haymitch arrives. At first, I worry that he's going to hit me again, but then I remember Wiress's fate and I no longer care. He doesn't hit me, though; he sits next to me on the hospital bed and surprises me by laying a comforting hand on my shoulder. "I know you're having a rough time right now," he says in the kindest voice I've ever heard him use, "but we need your help."

"For what?" I ask, wiping my tear-stained cheeks.

Haymitch sighs. "Peeta tried to kill Katniss."

My eyes widen. "_What?_"

"Something was done to him," he continues, "and made him want to kill her. He's under sedation now. But...because of how informed you are...I want to know if you know anything about hijacking."

I blink. "Hijacking?" I repeat.

"Yes."

Closing my eyes for a moment, I nod. "I've heard of it. I don't know too much, but if you suspect that's what has happened to Peeta...I could give information about it."

"It would help," says Haymitch.

When he leaves, I follow him out. Plutarch is pacing outside Katniss's hospital room, and when we join him, we wait together for permission to enter her room.

Clearance is granted after another few minutes, and Plutarch immediately shoos away the doctors. Prim Everdeen sits by Katniss, rubbing her hands, but when Plutarch tries to usher her out as well, she snaps, "No. If you force me to leave, I'll go directly to surgery and tell my mother everything that's happened. And I warn you, she doesn't think much of a Gamemaker calling the shots on Katniss's life. Especially when you've taken such poor care of her."

Haymitch laughs at Plutarch's look of disdain. "I'd let it go, Plutarch," he says. Prim stays.

"So, Katniss," says Plutarch, "Peeta's condition has come as a shock to all of us. We couldn't help but notice his deterioration in the last two interviews. Obviously, he'd been abused, and we put his psychological state down to that. Now we believe something more was going on. That the Capitol has been subjecting him to a rather uncommon technique known as hijacking. Beetee?"

Sighing, I say, "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you all the specifics of it, Katniss. The Capitol's very secretive about this form of torture, and I believe the results are inconsistent. This we do know. It's a type of fear conditioning. The term _hijack_ comes from an old English word that means '_to capture_,' or even better, '_seize_.' We believe it was chosen because the technique involves the use of tracker jacker venom, and the _jack_ suggested _hijack_. You were stung in your first Hunger Games, so unlike most of us, you have firsthand knowledge of the effects of the venom." Katniss shivers and nods. "I'm sure you remember how frightening it was," I continue. "Did you also suffer mental confusion in the aftermath? A sense of being unable to judge what was true and what was false? Most people who have been stung and lived to tell about it report something of the kind. Recall is made more difficult because memories can be changed." I tap my forehead. "Brought to the forefront of your mind, altered, and saved again in the revised form. Now imagine that I ask you to remember something—either with a verbal suggestion or by making you watch a tape of the event—and while that experience is refreshed, I give you a dose of tracker jacker venom. Not enough to induce a three-day blackout. Just enough to infuse the memory with fear and doubt. And that's what your brain puts in long-term storage."

Fearfully, Katniss looks at Prim, who asks, "Is that what they've done to Peeta? Taken his memories of Katniss and distorted them so they're scary?"

Nodding, I say, "So scary that he'd see her as life-threatening. That he might try to kill her. Yes, that's our current theory."

"But you can reverse it, right?" Prim insists.

"Um…very little data on that," says Plutarch. "None, really. If hijacking rehabilitation has been attempted before, we have no access to those records."

"Well, you're going to try, aren't you? You're not just going to lock him up in some padded room and leave him to suffer?" Prim demands.

"Of course, we'll try, Prim," I assure her. "It's just, we don't know to what degree we'll succeed. If any. My guess is that fearful events are the hardest to root out. They're the ones we naturally remember the best, after all." I'm reminded of Wiress and the memories she will never be able to root out. I swallow and Haymitch unexpectedly lays a hand on my shoulder once more.

"And apart from his memories of Katniss, we don't yet know what else has been tampered with," adds Plutarch. "We're putting together a team of mental health and military professionals to come up with a counterattack. I, personally, feel optimistic that he'll make a full recovery."

"Do you?" says Prim, her voice laced with sarcasm. "And what do you think, Haymitch?"

Haymitch seems fatigued. "I think Peeta might get somewhat better," he says. "But…I don't think he'll ever be the same." Katniss looks horrified and buries her face in her arms.

"At least he's alive. Snow executed Peeta's stylist and his prep team on live television tonight. We've no idea what happened to Effie Trinket. Peeta's damaged, but he's here. With us. And that's a definite improvement over his situation twelve hours ago. Let's keep that in mind, all right?" says Plutarch with a touch of irritation.

We all stare at him, aghast that he could find those words comforting. At the news of four, maybe five, murders, Katniss begins to hyperventilate. Doctors swarm into the room and she is sedated. I watch her jealously, wishing I could visit that drug-induced dreamland and forget about the world that has treated my love so cruelly, at least for a little while.

Despite everyone's insistence that I take a few days off to recuperate from the traumatic events of late, I'm in Special Defense bright and early the next day. Gale, who was wounded when a large piece of shrapnel lodged into and dislocated his right shoulder, joins me soon enough and surprises me by briefly wrapping an arm around my shoulders and patting my back. "I'm sorry about what happened," he says. Gale is not one to hug or apologize, so this touches me and puts a very, very weak smile on my face while we get to work.

"What are these?" a gravelly voice asks. Gale and I look up to see Katniss, standing by us and peering at the diagrams decorating the walls and computer screens.

"Ah, Katniss," I greet her, "you've found us out."

"What? Is this a secret?" she asks.

"Not really," I answer. "But I've felt a little guilty about it. Stealing Gale away from you so much." I understand how close they are and Gale has given several hints at a romantic relationship, so the knowledge that I'm keeping them apart is not pleasant. Katniss, however, narrows her eyes and simply says, "I hope you've been putting his time to good use."

"Come and see," I reply, beckoning her to a computer screen.

Over the past few weeks, Gale and I have developed quite a number of traps based on animalistic impulses too powerful to ignore. Turning a valuable checkpoint—one that provides water or food—into a death trap. Chasing victims from a minor destruction to a greater one. Baiting parents with their offspring to lure them into a snare. Luring prey into what appears to be a safe haven—where death waits it. Bombing a group of people, allowing medics to rush forth, and then killing them all. As we agreed in the beginning, Gale pieced together the psychology of these traps and enlisted me to help in the actual mechanics. I feel sick to my stomach when I think of what _Wiress _would think, but now, I need only draw forth the images of those four Peacekeepers violating her in turns to eradicate the guilt and add fuel to my fire. I don't know if Katniss has been told about Wiress's fate—I doubt it; Peeta's is probably cumbersome enough—but surely if she knew, she wouldn't be scowling as she is now. "That seems to be crossing some kind of line. So anything goes?" she demand. We both give her our attention—I regard her with insistence, Gale regards her with contempt. "I guess there isn't a rule book for what might be unacceptable to do to another human being," she scoffs.

"Sure there is," Gale answers. "Beetee and I have been following the same rule book President Snow used when he hijacked Peeta."

Even I'm a bit shocked at this. Katniss, predictably, storms off, and Gale refuses to talk about her for the rest of the morning.

When we depart to eat—though I have no appetite; I plan on slipping my lunch to Gale—Plutarch approaches me and asks Gale to take me aside. "Go on ahead," he says, still seeming moody about Katniss's visit. He takes off toward the dining hall and Plutarch says, "Let's have a little walk."

Following him, I say, "Is something wrong?"

"I just wanted to update you on Wiress's condition," he says.

I'm filled with simultaneous eagerness and dread. "How is she?"

"She spent most of today awake," he says. "Without screaming or crying, as she did that first day. She's having trouble speaking in full sentences, but she can communicate semi-effectively. Only women are visiting and treating her, but one of the lead psychiatrists, Dr. Aurelius, did poke his head in her door to ask his assistant—a woman named Librae Cronin who's serving as Wiress's psychiatrist until she can tolerate a man's presence—a question and Wiress only tensed up. She didn't panic or anything. She's eating on her own already and is being weaned off morphling." He pauses. "Beetee, it's been just a few days since she was rescued. You have to realize how remarkable that all is."

"Has she..." I swallow over the lump in my throat. "Has she said anything about me? Asked where I was or something?"

"No," says Plutarch. Crestfallen, I look away with tears in my eyes. "Beetee, it's only been a few days. Give her time. Appreciate how well she's doing—she's functioning by herself and is already opening up to her psychiatrist to the best of her ability."

Again, I look away. Wiress used to come to _me _with her problems. Now she hasn't seen me in two months and hasn't even acknowledged my existence.

"Can I see her?" I ask.

Plutarch sighs. "Not yet, Beetee. I'm sorry. It's still so soon after and we don't want to overwhelm her when we're already so astounded by her progress. But I promise you'll see her soon. Everything will be alright again."

I answer with raw sorrow in my voice. "I sure hope so."

* * *

**I know what you're all thinking—you want to see Wiress! More importantly, you want a gosh-darn reunion already! Don't worry, I'll give you one—not next chapter, but maybe the chapter after that. :) And until then, please leave a review!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	13. Chapter 13

**I'd like to thank **_Savysnape7_**, **_KTstoriesandstuff_**, and **_SassyRedhead _**for reviewing! I'd also like to thank** _crazy YinYang writer7 _**for adding many of my stories to his/her Favorites and Alerts lists. This one wasn't included, but I felt the needed to public thank him/her! :) Stories included are **_**Suffering in Silence, Book 2: Breathe **_**(which as been edited and reposted as a new story and only has **_**12 **_**reviews compared with its previous **_**204!**_** Please, please, **_**please **_**go read and review it! ), **_**Suffering in Silence, Book 3: Breaking Point**_**, **_**One Rainy Afternoon**_**, and **_**A Very Beeress Christmas**_**. Be sure to check them out—and review, please!**

**Also: a little later, Beetee prays to "s****ome divine being that may not exist." I know some people are very adamant Christians—and I understand; I'm a Christian, too—so if this offends you, I am very, very sorry. I'm not trying to say that **_**I **_**don't believe in God; I just always imagined religion, especially Christianity, being very...sparse...in Panem, especially in controlled districts like 3. You know, the Capitol thinks **_**they're **_**like God? It's just part of my head-canon, so...yeah. Just a heads-up. :)**

**Now, after that ridiculously long A/N, let's get to the chapter!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

* * *

Peeta isn't getting any better. Because his condition was apparently too much to bear, Katniss left for District 2 a few days ago. I don't know whether to call her flight cowardly or inspired. Even though I want to some days, I can't mimic her. I have to stay in 13 to be as close to Wiress as possible.

Plutarch gives me updates about her condition whenever possible. He's always cheerful, reminding me of the highlights. "They've moved her into a special psychiatric ward," he tells me one day. "To keep an eye on her. The broken bones in her fingers have healed nicely, as have her burns. Physically, she's almost as good as new."

I always wait until he's done listing the positives to ask. "Has she said anything about me?"

"I'm sorry, Beetee, but no" is always his answer.

I always follow with "Can I see her?"

Again, his answer is always the same, day after day. "Not yet."

I try not to let my depression show in front of Finnick—who still technically lives with me but spends most nights in Annie's hospital room—and Gale. Often, I come to the conclusion that I'm simply selfish. Wiress has been to hell and back and is doing so very well—why can't I be happy about that? Sure, it's been one, two, three, four days since the rescue and she hasn't said my name once...sure, I'm just as barred from seeing her as I was when she was in the Capitol...but I shouldn't be so bothered by it. Wiress is well. Her therapy is going well. She's communicating effectively without me—that's more than can be said during the Quell. I should be happy at Wiress's progress, not disappointed or sad because I'm not a part of it.

While wandering aimlessly through Special Defense during my lunch break—lately, I haven't had much of an appetite—Plutarch comes up to me with a big grin on his face and says, "I have something you're going to like."

"What?" I ask dully.

"Wiress mentioned you today."

Instantly, the sun bursts into my dark mindset and it takes all of my self-control to not begin jumping in place like a prepubescent girl. I grip Plutarch's shoulders and say, "Really?!"

"Really," says Plutarch.

I bombard him with questions. "What did she say? What was her tone? What was the context? How is she doing? Does she want to see me? Can I see her?"

Laughing, Plutarch shrugs me off and says, "Breathe, Beetee. Walk with me."

I do so, glowing with excitement. Wiress _hasn't _forgotten me. And if Plutarch is this happy, it means that she implied that she either forgives or doesn't blame me for what happened. It's the best news I've received since arriving in 13. Unable to bear the suspense, I say, "Plutarch, tell me, please!"

"Okay, okay." Plutarch takes a breath. "Miss Librae Cronin, an assistant of Dr. Aurelius's who is serving as Wiress's psychiatrist, asked Wiress just a little while ago what she ate for lunch." I stare at him, a bit perplexed. Plutarch continues. "And Wiress responded by saying, 'Where's Beetee?'"

"Then what?" I ask excitedly.

"Miss Cronin explained your work in Special Defense," says Plutarch, "and Wiress nodded and proceeded to describe what she ate for her midday meal."

My shoulders slump a bit. I can't hide my disappointment. "That's all?"

"Yes," says Plutarch.

I bow my head, sighing. What, was I expecting Juliet-esque inquiry about my whereabouts? To be honest, I was. "What was her tone?" I ask, clinging to a shred of hope.

"According to Miss Cronin," says Plutarch, "she sounded mild curious. Her tone mirrored that of one asking for the time or a weather forecast."

I walk toward the nearest wall and slide down it, burying my face in my knees. Almost impatiently, Plutarch says, "Beetee, you should be happy!"

"Happy that the love of my life has only just remembered that I exist and seems to either not remember or not care how much she loved me?" I'm startled by my own use of past tense. Who said Wiress had stopped loving me? She couldn't have stopped. I would never be able to recover if she stopped...

"Beetee, you have to realize how much she's suffered," Plutarch answers.

Looking up, I snap, "I know how much she's suffered, thank you very much. I know how much I've _made _her suffer. It's just..." My voice loses its waspish quality and reverts to the sniveling of a small child who's been robbed of his favorite toy. "I miss her, Plutarch. I just want to see her again...I want nothing more than to hold her and be assured that she doesn't hate me for everything I've put her through."

Plutarch comes over and sits by me, laying a hand on my shoulder. "I know it's hard, Beetee," he soothes, "but it'll get better. I promise."

Wiping stray tears from the corners of my eyes, I ask, "Can I see her?" When he opens his mouth, I add quickly, "If the answer is _no_, just walk away. I can't bear to hear it again."

"We've decided on a reunion date," says Plutarch.

Wide-eyed, I turn to him. "When?" I persist.

"We're going to allow you to see Wiress when _she _initiates the meeting. When Wiress _asks _to see you, we'll let you see her," he says.

This brightens me—not by much, but slightly. It's better than what I've been hearing. I nod, rising, and help Plutarch to his feet as well. "Thank you," I say.

"You're welcome," he replies with a smile before walking away.

Stealthily, I slip into the restroom unnoticed and hide in one of the stalls, folding my hands beneath my chin and murmuring to some divine being that may not exist for Wiress to ask for me as soon as possible.

* * *

A few days later, Plutarch actually fetches me from the workroom where I sit with Gale and asks to speak with me. Knowing that it must be about Wiress, I follow without question. "How is she?" I ask as soon as we're out of earshot.

"Surprisingly well," he answers. "She's actually begun complaining about the abundance of free time. They've given her a sketchpad, scissors, colored paper, pencils, crayons, etcetera and she's begun making crafts to occupy herself. Simple, almost childlike things—paper dolls, drawings of flowers and rainbows, things like that. She also uses the sketchpad to draw blueprints, and she tapes some of these on the walls of her room. She seems delighted that an entire district exists healthily underground and often bombards Dr. Aurelius with questions when he comes to see her."

"Dr. Aurelius?" I repeat, my smile growing wider.

Nodding, Plutarch says, "Miss Cronin has resumed her secretarial duties and Dr. Aurelius has taken over as Wiress's psychiatrist full-time."

This delights me like nothing else. If Wiress is able to be so close to a man so soon after what happened, it means she's doing remarkably. "What else?" I ask eagerly.

"She doesn't like touch," says Plutarch, "especially not by Dr. Aurelius, but that's to be expected after what she went through. There are still some days where she has anxiety attacks and has to be sedated, but in the eight days she's been here, she's only had to be put under for three. She doesn't like the color blue and asked for pink pajamas, which they gave her." After a pause, Plutarch adds softly, "She's started singing again."

Wiping tears from my eyes, I whisper, "Really?"

"Really," says Plutarch with a smile.

"What...what does she sing?"

"Mostly nursery rhymes, lullabies, things like that," Plutarch answers. "Lately, she's taken to drawing musical notes and hanging them over her bed."

I form the question I need answered most on my lips. "Has she mentioned me?"

"She has," says Plutarch, delighting me further. "When speaking to Dr. Aurelius just yesterday, she stated that his glasses fit very well and commented that yours didn't."

Selfishly, I am disappointed. I have no right to be! Wiress is doing so well—_why can't I appreciate that? _Why must I always want more—no, why must I always want it to be about me? "Is that all?" I ask, knowing the answer.

"Yes, it is," says Plutarch. I sigh softly. "Beetee—"

"No, no, it's quite alright," I say, cutting him off. "It is, really. I should...I'm happy that Wiress is doing so well." Suddenly, a light goes off in my mind. "Can you come by in about thirty minutes? I have something I want to give Wiress. You don't have to tell her it was from me," I add quickly at his concerned look, "if it'll overwhelm her. I just want her to have something special. For her room."

"Okay," says Plutarch.

I rush back toward Gale and begin poking around the workroom, asking, "Do we have parchment paper and rubber bands?"

"Yeah, they're in a drawer somewhere," Gale mutters distractedly, most of his attention on the blueprint he's sketching.

My search brings up both objects. Happily, I rip off a sizable sheet of parchment paper, pull a rubber band out of a box of many, and take off for the replicated meadow.

When I reach it, I hesitate. I don't know if I'm allowed to take the flowers. But I decide that Wiress's happiness is worth more than soldiers' anger and begin plucking them from the ground, making sure to collect wildflowers of all colors. When I have a bouquet of about thirty, I wrap the stems in parchment paper, tighten them with the rubber band, and take off to find Plutarch. He smiles when he sees what I have and I hold the flowers out to him. "Give these to Wiress," I say. "To liven up her room."

"Of course," says Plutarch, taking the bouquet and heading off to the hospital. Wiress has always loved flowers, but she's never been able to see too many back home. I imagine the smile on her face when she receives my gift, and this puts a rejuvenated spring in my step for the rest of the day.

* * *

The very next day, Plutarch approaches me en route to Special Defense and says, "I have wonderful news!"

"Is it about Wiress?"

"Yes," he says happily. "Dr. Aurelius gave her the flowers, and when he told her who they were from upon her asking, she seemed very happy."

"Really?"

"Beetee, she was _blushing_," says Plutarch. "When she got them, she blushed and giggled like a teenager. She keeps the flowers in a vase by her bed, and she told Dr. Aurelius to tell me to tell you that she thinks giving her flowers was very sweet. She also wants to thank you."

"Tell her how very welcome she is," I answer with a grin.

"You can tell her yourself," says Plutarch.

My voice catches somewhere in my esophagus and renders me unable to speak. Finally, I force the words out. "Do you mean—?"

"I do," Plutarch answers, smiling. "Wiress wants to see you."

* * *

**Yes, I'm _really _leaving you all with a cliffhanger! :) Get excited—we see Wiress next chapter! Is she really doing as well as Plutarch says? Why did she wait so long to see Beetee? Will their reunion go as planned? Stay tuned!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	14. Chapter 14

**Thank you for reviewing, **_Savysnape7_**! Your support is greatly appreciated! As a reward, this is the longest chapter yet! :)**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

* * *

Planning the reunion between Wiress and me is no easy task. Dr. Aurelius and her doctors want to make sure that she isn't going to change her mind—apparently, she's been very indecisive as of late. They also want to make sure that she won't panic. Miss Cronin, Dr. Aurelius's assistant, insists that someone be in the room, but I want a private reunion. When Wiress's opinion is weighed in, she insists that she isn't a child and that she wants to see me alone. I try not to celebrate this _too _much. Finally, just a week and a half after her retrieval from the Capitol, the day arrives.

While I shower, don clean clothes, attempt taming my hair, choke down as much breakfast as my nerves will allow, and brush my teeth, I prepare myself mentally for what Wiress may look like. They may have shaved her head. Her face may be disfigured by bruises and swelling. She may look nothing like the woman I last saw in the arena. I won't care, of course, but I try to assure myself I won't express _too _much shock; I don't want to frighten or embarrass her. Finnick and Annie assure me that I look fine when I ask. "Just go already," says Finnick with a laugh.

As I make to exit our compartment, I say, "I'd like for you to keep this place in some order when I return, Finnick."

Rolling his eyes, Finnick answers, "I'll see if I feel like it." I hear his laughter as I close the door and depart for the hospital.

Plutarch intercepts me as soon as I enter; at first, I'm terrified he's going to tell me that Wiress doesn't want to see me anymore, that she's come to her senses and realized how much I put her through, but he only smiles and leads me to her room. The hospital has five different wards all labeled with a letter: the emergency care ward, or Ward A, the intensive care ward, or Ward B, the pediatric ward, or Ward C, the long-term care ward, or Ward D, and the psychiatric ward, or Ward E. I try to keep my hands from shaking with nervousness as Plutarch and I enter Ward E. I will myself into a state of serenity. _It's Wiress_. _I shouldn't be nervous_. _Deep down, she's the same woman from the Quell—just a bit more fragile_. _She wants to see me_. _She doesn't hate me_. _Everything will be alright_. Finally, Plutarch stops me outside Room 226 and says, "Well, here we are."

"You mean Wiress...?"

"Is just behind that door," says Plutarch with a smile. He pats my shoulder and walks away.

Suddenly, I wish I had agreed to let a doctor stay in the room with us. I haven't planned what to say or do. I don't even know if I should _knock_. Does she know I'm here? Perhaps I _should _knock, just to be sure. I rap my knuckles against the door three times and wait. Soft footsteps approach, and soon, a harmonious sound I haven't heard in so long accompanies it. Singing. _Wiress's _singing. I smile a bit nervously as she opens the door and leads me inside, still humming an old lullaby to herself. As she closes the door, I take in her room. It definitely has more personal touches that designate a longer stay. The white walls are decorated with all sorts of pictures that juxtapose Wiress's childlike nature with her brilliant mind—some are childish drawings of rainbows, suns, flowers, etcetera, but some are detailed sketches of inventions. As Plutarch said, black music notes hang above her bed like a mobile. A large piece of paper covers one wall, and a window is drawn on it. Behind the pretend window is what appears to be a meadow with birds and flowers and trees. My Wiress, the eternal starry-eyed dreamer. I continue surveying the room, and soon, Wiress herself crosses into my line of vision. I try not to make her uncomfortable by staring, but my eyes hunger to capture every little detail.

Compared to the images in my mind, Wiress looks positively radiant. She's a bit thinner than I remember, but she isn't emaciated. She still has all of her hair; those dark brown curls cascade halfway down her back like a smooth-flowing stream. Again, as Plutarch said, she wears simple pink pajamas: a button-down top with a collar and long pants that reach her bare feet. Her smile is a bit weak, but she's still smiling. I almost smile back, but that's when I begin noticing a few other things. The bandages on her hands. The burns on her uncovered fingertips. And especially the bruises on her neck, starting from just below her jaw and trailing down to below her collarbone. Some were caused by rope, some caused by human hands, but even from this distance, I can see that many were caused by human teeth. They _bit _her. Rage at the degradation she suffered through boils within me, but then she speaks, and I'm immediately captivated by her voice. "Hi," says Wiress with that small, almost shy smile. Is she as nervous as I am? The thought is comforting and very sweet.

"Hello," I answer. Her face bears just a few scars, not enough to make her unrecognizable, but enough to be noticed. I want to take her face in my hands and kiss each and every one of those scars. I want to hold her and assure her that, as long as I'm alive, she will never suffer that way again. But I don't want to make her uncomfortable; Plutarch said she doesn't like touch. That includes me, whether I like it or not. Still smiling, Wiress crosses over to the bed and sits down curling up against the headboard. At first, I linger in place, but then Wiress pats the space in front of her in invitation. Rejoicing internally at the closeness, I sit next to her and ask kindly, "How are you, Wiress?"

She sweeps her long, dark hair behind her ears. I watch her as she struggles to form words. "Better," she finally decides. I'm glad she doesn't feel the need to sugarcoat anything. "You?" she asks.

"I've been better," I admit. "But...I'm much better now than I was before."

Realizing what I mean, Wiress smiles. "I'm...glad."

"I am, too."

After a short period of silence, Wiress says, "I...forgot...no, no." She rubs her temples in agitation; I watch her patiently as she works her way through the sentence. "I...missed...you. I _missed _you," she says, smiling that she finished it on her own.

I smile at the sentiment. "I missed you, too, Wiress," I tell her. Pushing my luck, I slowly slide my fingertips closer to hers, hoping that, by some miracle, she'll feel comfortable holding my hand. I'm wrong. As soon as our fingers touch, she snatches her hand away, recoiling as one would after touching a hot surface, and stares at me in fear. The motion was not voluntary. It was instinctive. I try not to let it get to me as I say, "I'm glad you liked the flowers."

They sit in a vase of water on the table by the bed, wilting slightly but still retaining their bright colors. I'm relieved when Wiress answers. "I do. So...pretty." Our eyes meet. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me," I reply. "I...I would do anything for you."

I tense, worried she may feel obligated to return the devotion and be therefore overwhelmed, but she simply says, "I know."

Sighing softly, I murmur, "I'm sorry, Wiress."

"Why?" she inquires, peering at me with interest.

"I swore to protect you." Blinking back tears, I meet her gaze again. "I didn't."

Wiress looks around for a moment before her eyes rest on mine once more. "I...don't..." At first, I'm terrified she's trying to say _I don't forgive you _or _I don't believe you _or worse of all, _I don't love you anymore_, but Wiress finishes by saying, "...blame you."

Relief courses through me. Wiress doesn't blame me for what happened. I smile breathlessly. "Thank you," I whisper.

Smiling back, she mimics my voice and says, "You don't have to thank me. I would do anything for you."

My heart skips a beat. She spoke so completely just then. Was she simply parroting what I said earlier? Or does she really mean it? To keep from overwhelming her, I don't ask her to elaborate. We're alerted by a knock on the door, and a voice calls, "Wiress? I have your lunch."

Wiress nods at me. "Are you hungry?" I ask. Again, she nods, so I reply, "Come in."

A nurse bearing a food cart enters, seeming surprised. "Who's this?" she asks Wiress.

Smiling, Wiress moves her hair back from her face again and says, "Beetee. My..." She trails off, but completes the sentence by saying, "My friend."

I nod in assent, trying not to show any disappointment. Once upon a time, we were much more than friends. I remind myself that romance is probably too complicated for Wiress at the moment and let it go. "Are _you_...food? No, hungry!" Wiress corrects, laughing. "Not food."

I rejoice at the sound of her laugh. If she can laugh like that so soon after, she'll be as good as new. It may take some time, but my little mouse will return to me eventually. I laugh with her and say, "I don't think I'm edible, Wiress, but I _am _hungry, now that I think of it."

Still giggling, Wiress looks at the nurse and points to me. "Him, too? Food?"

The nurse says, "Are you hungry, Beetee?"

"If it isn't any trouble," I answer.

Smiling, the nurse says, "None at all." I take it she's simply happy Wiress has a visitor—and a male visitor she's allowing to sit on her bed at that. She leaves to retrieve another plate and Wiress says, "Lunch?"

"I don't know what's for lunch," I say. "The food here is a bit bland, but three free meals a day is not something to turn down."

Wiress giggles. "Three free meals," she chants. "Three free meals." I suppose the alliteration amuses her. "Three free meals, three free meals..." I smile at her as the nurse returns with the food cart now bearing two trays instead of one. "There you go," she says with a smile. She leaves the cart by the bed and adds, "Just call me when you two are done." Still smiling, she leaves and closes the door behind her.

Gentlemanly, I take the first tray and help Wiress ease it onto her lap. When she's situated, I slide the cart over to me and use it like a makeshift table. Our meal consists of a bowl of red soup filled with colorful bits of vegetable, six small crackers, and a glass of water. "Food shipments must have arrived recently," I comment, picking up a cracker and examining it. "We don't often get crackers."

With a devilish grin, Wiress surprises me by snatching the cracker from my hand, dunking it into her own bowl, and eating it. I laugh at her triumphant expression as she chews and swallows. "Spicy," she declares. I'm reminded suddenly of Wiress being the first to try the red sauce a parachute gave us in the arena. She gave it the same assessment. This makes me smile even broader; yes, Wiress _will _come back to me one day.

We pick up our spoons, and there's a period of silence as we eat. The silence isn't awkward, however; it reminds me of the silence we shared before the Quell when we simply read each other's expressions to determine thoughts. Wiress makes me laugh when she accidentally splashes some of her soup onto her nose and then tries in vain to lick it off; finally, I take pity on her and wipe her face with a napkin. Though our skins don't touch, she still shivers, but Wiress allows me to wipe her nose with the napkin. I take this as a good omen. We've just finished our meals and the nurse is collecting our dishes when my communicuff starts beeping. _Damn! _I think.

Fascinated, Wiress peers at it. She grabs my wrist and holds it close to her face with such interest it makes me chuckle. Suddenly, I realize that, though our skins are not in contact, she _is _touching me. I smile even more as she continues to observe it. "What...it is? Is it?" she asks.

"It's called a communicuff," I explain, amused by her fascination. "It displays printed messages, and it's an honor to be bestowed one."

"You...serve...no, _de_serve...it," she says.

I smile, pleased with the comment and the complexity of the thought. "Why, thank you," I tell her.

Grinning, she says, "Welcome."

I peer at its message, and my smile turns to a frown.

_REPORT TO COMMAND_

"What's it...said? Say?" asks Wiress.

"I have to report to Command," I tell her apologetically.

Crestfallen, Wiress infers, "Leave?"

"Yes," I say. "I'm sorry."

"Back soon?"

"I don't know what they want," I answer, "but I'll come back."

She smiles. "Sap," she says.

"What?" I ask.

"No, not sap," she mutters. Smiling, she says, "A sap!"

It takes me a moment, but I realize what she means. Not a sap—ASAP, the acronym for _as soon as possible_. I smile. "Yes, I'll be back ASAP. As soon as possible," I agree. I rise off the bed and approach the door.

"Bye," says Wiress.

I turn back, still smiling. "Bye, Wiress. I love you."

The last part is instinctive, something I have told Wiress upon departing thousands of times before. I wait for her response, realizing I'm not quite sure what to expect. Will she respond with a simple _I love you, too_? Will she just nod? Will she say something like_ yes _or _okay_? Will she just blush? Will she get up and hug me? I sincerely doubt the latter, but I can hope.

I expect anything other than Wiress's actual reaction.

Her fingers twitch into fists. Her eyes widen with fear. Her lower lip quivers. Her muscles are tense. The nurse immediately abandons the empty dishes, sending them clattering to the ground, and approaches Wiress, but Wiress is much quicker and slides off the bed, scampering to the corner. She presses herself into it, staring at me in pure terror, and clamps her hands over her ears. I approach her and her name has just formed on my lips when Wiress throws back her head and screams.

If the window she drew were real, it would surely shatter from the sheer volume of Wiress's scream. It rises and falls horribly, a shriek of the insane, and I realize finally the impact of my words. I have not simply overwhelmed her—I've pushed her over the edge completely. The nurse reacts before I do and crouches in the corner in front of Wiress, speaking soothing words and trying to calm her. I approach the pair and kneel as well, but the nurse snaps, "You need to leave. Now."

"Let me help," I persist, anxious to rectify my mistake. "I know her better than you do—"

"Get out of here," she insists. "_Now_."

"I can—"

"If you don't leave right now," she threatens, "I will call security."

"Please, let me help—" I'm not angry now, simply desperate. The nurse wants to hear nothing of my plea and shouts, "Security!"

Two soldiers enter the room. I neither resist nor comply; I simply continue trying to pull Wiress from her fit of hysteria, but Wiress ignores both me and the nurse and continues to scream and scream and scream, her normally pale face scarlet. One soldiers grabs my left arm, the other grabs my right, and I am literally dragged out of Room 226. They don't release me until I'm out of Ward E altogether and the door leading inside is locked. Tears brimming in my eyes, I scrape up the remainder of my dignity and march purposefully toward Command.

I was wrong, so very wrong. Wiress will not come back to me. Nothing will be normal again. At the most, the only thing we could have had was friendship, and I have shattered that to pieces. I shove aside the depression, the anger, the guilt. I must accept this as it is. I must move on.

I must let go.

When I reach Command, I find myself accompanied by Haymitch, Coin, a few of her soldiers, Plutarch, and Fulvia. "We have a problem," says Coin, diving straight into business as always. "It seems our soldiers are having trouble capturing the military stronghold in District Two."

"The Nut," says Plutarch.

"We're sending a team of strategists out to Two to assist in taking the Nut," Coin continues. "We would appreciate you accompanying that team and providing your expertise."

At my expression, Plutarch says, "We understand you and Wiress were just reunited, and you were more than welcome to refuse—"

"No," I say. "I want to go."

Everyone seems surprised; I suppose they expected me to want to stay. "You can stay here, you know," says Haymitch.

"No. I want to help in any way that I can," I say. "I want to go to Two."

"Are you sure?" asks Coin.

The part of my brain that still maintains a stronghold on Wiress—which is most of it—screams at me, _No! Stay here! Wiress needs you! Don't run away when she needs you the most! _Shaking my head, I ignore it and say, "Yes. I'm sure."

"Well, we appreciate this very much," says Coin, seeming a bit surprised. "The team will be leaving this evening."

"Perfect," I answer.

As we leave Command, Haymitch suddenly snatches my arm and brings me to a corner. "Did something happen between you and Wiress?" he asks.

"No," I lie. "Why would you ask such a thing?"

"Because you just got her back and now you're acting all gung-ho to leave her," he explains, narrowing his eyes. He releases me and says, "I know something's up, Beetee. I leave it at that."

Haymitch walks away. I ponder his words for a moment. He knows that this isn't chivalry at all—that my insistence on going to 2 is nothing more than my cowardly way of avoiding Wiress. No matter. There is nothing anyone can do about it.

_Except Wiress, of course_, a voice whispers in the back of my mind.

A tear leaks out of my eye. Though it isn't cold here, I catch a shiver.

* * *

**I assume none of you expected their reunion to end with Beetee being dragged out by security and then scrambling off to 2...will he and Wiress reconcile? Will Haymitch discover that something that is up? Will I ever stop asking such stupid questions? Leave a review, please!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	15. Chapter 15

**More Gale in this chapter! As I said, I'm doing my best not to make him OOC—what do _you _think? Tell me in a review! And speaking of which, I'd like to thank **_Savysnape7 _**for hers! Also: I tried to keep the swearing in this story to a minimum, but I had to include the s-word later on because it felt too right to exclude. :) Just to warn you.**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

* * *

I'm quiet on the hovercraft ride to 2. Gale, who I asked to accompany me, seems to notice that I'm troubled by something and asks, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say toward the window. "I'm fine."

"Liar," says Gale.

"What makes you so sure?"

"Your face. You look like a lost puppy," he explains.

"Well, I'm sorry if I'm not always in a good mood, Gale," I snap.

To my surprise, he doesn't jump right into the argument, as he normally would. Instead, he says, "See? That's more proof. You just snapped at me. You never snap at_ anyone_. You're one of the patientest people I know."

"_Patientest _isn't a word. It's _more patient_," I correct moodily.

"And see? You never get onto me for my horrible grammar," Gale continues. He pokes me in the ribs. "There's something up, Beetee. What is it?"

"Nothing," I insist.

Gale's voice becomes uncharacteristically gentle. "Is it Wiress, Beetee?"

"No!" I snap, regarding him with contempt. "Quit asking! I'm fine, so let it go already!"

Grudgingly, Gale obeys. The rest of the team is staring at the two of us, but we refuse to elaborate on the cause of our argument. The remainder of the ride is eerily silent.

As soon as we touch down, Gale asks where Katniss is and takes off in that direction. I'm slightly upset at this; if one person would understand what I'm going through, it would be Katniss. Peeta was warped even worse than Wiress was. Surely Katniss would know the feeling of having a previous lover now feel so adversely about me. It isn't a conversation I want to have with Gale present, however, so I instead follow the remainder of our team and get situated in our camp. A few minutes later, someone approaches me and says, "You have a telephone call."

Blinking, I follow him to a small cabin about a hundred feet away and pick up the phone sitting on a rickety table. "Hello?"

"Beetee," says Plutarch. I cringe at the sound of his voice; I know where this is going. "Listen, I heard what happened yesterday with Wi—"

"It's fine," I interrupt.

"Beetee, I know how much it must have hurt—"

"I'm fine," I insist.

"It doesn't meant she doesn't feel the same way—"

"I don't want to talk about Wiress, alright?" I shout. "It's fine! _I'm _fine! Please, just let it go!"

"Beetee—"

Rudely, I hang up the phone and march out of the cabin, only to discover that everyone is now staring at me. I suppose I shouldn't have yelled so much. Nonetheless, I say brusquely, "I need to go for a walk," and without waiting for permission, I disappear into the woods.

The cool air is refreshing as it whispers across my skin. All around comes the rustling of birds' wings; not hummingbirds, but bluebirds, blackbirds, robins, finches, maybe even mockingjays. On a whim, I whistle the tune to one of Wiress's favorite nursery rhymes, "Hickory Dickory Dock," and am rewarded a few minutes later with the delighted voices of mockingjays mimicking my song. _Wiress's _song. The one she sang in the arena. When she was still with me, when she still loved me...

Suddenly, the sweet voices of the mockingjays are making me sick. I hurry along and let the sound of my shoes thumping against the uneven ground drown it out.

I soon come upon a small creek. Most of the larger rivers are used for irrigation, but this one seems overtaken by algae. A small stone catches my eye, and I pick it up and toss it across the river parallel to its flow. It immediately sinks.

Disgruntled, I snatch up another rock and try again. This time, it skips along the water twice before dropping in. When I try yet again, it skips five times. I'm about to pick up another rock when I start laughing.

"What are you doing?" I mutter aloud. "Skipping rocks to avoid your problems? Wonderful. Not only did you drive away the love of your life, you've become a walking cliché." Annoyed with myself, I keep going.

As I continue my mindless trek, a sound reaches my ears. I place my palms on either side of an oak tree to balance myself as I crane my neck, listening to see if I imagined it. Soon, I hear it again, so I decide that the sound is real. And very close. It's a woman's soft moan, but not of pain—of pleasure.

Shaking my head, I creep around the oak to return to the camp, but I only run straight into Gale and Katniss. They're beyond noticing me, however, as they're tangled in an embrace and kissing with such passion that blood pools in my face. I turn around quickly and walk as briskly as I can without running, unable to describe what I feel. I think it's envy—unlike Wiress and I, they're still able to touch and love. It makes me feel empty.

Luckily, the remainder of the camp seems to distracted to notice my return—all except for one, who comes up to me with a perplexed expression and says, "You have another phone call."

I suppose it's to be expected that Plutarch called back. After my thinking time in the woods, I realize that it would probably be best to apologize, anyway. I return to the cabin, pick up the phone, and have just formed the words I'm sorry on my lips when the caller shouts, "_What the hell is wrong with you?_"

It isn't Plutarch, as I'd thought, but Finnick. His voice is so loud that I have to hold the phone several inches away from my ear to avoid going deaf. A few heads outside the cabin turn, and, blushing, I say into the phone, "Finnick, how are you?"

"How am I? How am I? Let me put it this way—you're damned lucky you're eleven districts away or I'd wring your neck!" Finnick yells.

"Please don't shout," I plead softly, trying to avoid catching the glances of my staring companions. "People are starting to stare—"

"I don't give two shits if people are starting to stare!" Finnick retorts.

"If you're going to shout," I say, "could you at least tell me why?"

"Why? Why? Why don't you tell me why you ran off to Two, Beetee? Huh?"

"Why I...what?" I repeat, bewildered.

"Do you know where Annie and I are right now, Beetee?"

"No. Does Annie approve of you verbally abusing your friend like this?" I retort.

"I wouldn't know," he counters. "Annie's too busy sitting with Wiress and holding her while she cries because her so-called lover ran off without a goodbye!"

His words have the desired effect: I wince horribly. "Why the hell did you take off like that?" Finnick demands. "She needs you!"

"Wiress doesn't need me," I say dully.

"Yes, she does! She's crying her eyes out because you left! She was looking forward to seeing you again, and as soon as she displayed some effects from what she endured in the Capitol, you took off!"

My heart sinks. "I...I didn't think of it that way," I whisper.

"Obviously not," Finnick retorts.

"Finnick, I told her I loved her and she went ballistic," I explain weakly.

"You think she doesn't know that? As soon as she came to her senses, she wanted to see you again to apologize for hurting you, and guess what? Plutarch had to tell her that you left!"

I sit against the rickety table and say, "I didn't mean to hurt her, Finnick...I really didn't. I was just..."

"Selfish?" Finnick snaps.

Tears fill my eyes. "Yes," I whisper.

His voice softens. "You're crying, aren't you?"

"What makes you think that?" I ask, wiping my eyes.

"Lucky guess." Finnick sighs. "I'm sorry for getting so worked up. It's just...I don't know. I understand why you left. I just knew how much you love her and couldn't believe you'd leave. I just...I care about you, Beetee. I want to make sure you're happy. And for you to be happy, Wiress has to be happy, and for that to happen...well, she has to know you still care about her."

"Thank you."

"Don't make too big a deal of it, though," he adds. I think he's smirking.

"Of course." I pause. "Can...can you put Wiress on the phone, please?"

Though I have no way of knowing for sure, I think he smiles again, but more sincerely. "Sure."

I hear footsteps, and my heart aches at the sound of weeping that reaches me over the phone. "What is it?" says Annie.

"Wiress?" says Finnick. "It's Beetee. Do you want to talk to him?"

She must make some sound of assent, because after a moment, her whimpering fills my ears. "Hello, Wiress," I say, smiling.

"H-hi," she murmurs with a sniff.

"How are you?"

"Bad." A small sob escapes her throat. "Why?"

"Why did I leave?" I sigh softly. "Wiress...when you...after I told you I..." I trail off, but I think Wiress understands. "It hurt. I thought you...you didn't feel the same anymore."

"Love," she whispers. "Lovers. Lovemaking. Hurt. Pain. Questions." I can almost see her shudder. "I got scared."

"I understand, Wiress. I understand. At the time, though, I...I didn't think of you. I thought of me. I was selfish. And I hurt you." My voice softens. "I'm sorry I hurt you, my dear."

"I...pain...hurt you, too. I'm sorry, too."

"It's alright." I pause. "Do...do you forgive me, Wiress? "

"Mm-hm. Me?"

"Of course I forgive you, my little mouse." I hear her giggle. "Remember when I started calling you that? Right after we became a couple? I told you you were like a mouse."

"And I think...thought you m-meant I was dozen. Gross," she corrects.

"But it was because you were small, quiet, sweet, and adorable," I say. "Like a little mouse."

"Your little mouse," she says, filling my heart with warmth.

"Indeed," I agree.

"When will you...?"

"Be back?" I sigh softly. "Wiress, darling...I don't think I can simply leave. I came to help, and...help I should."

For a moment, she's quiet. "If you want me to come back now," I continue, "I will, but—"

"No," murmurs Wiress. "Stay...where you're needed."

"But you need me, too, Wiress."

"Yes." She pauses, gathering her thoughts. "But...do what you have to. Then come back."

"I will. I..." Immediately, I cut myself off. I nearly said I love you. Surely someone so intelligent would learn from his mistakes. As I'm about to think of some way to say goodbye, Wiress whispers, "I...I'll try to love...again. Still do, but...so hard. Now. Complicated. But...still...I can't, now...so far away, but...in my mind..." She trails off, and I wait patiently for her to finish. "I...I'm kissing you goodbye in my mind," she whispers. I can almost see her smiling, blushing, and I laugh softly.

"As am I, my little mouse," I respond. "As am I."

Hanging up the phone, I exhale slowly. Will Wiress be the same? Possibly. But no matter what happens, she is still Wiress, my little mouse, and for now, that will be enough.

* * *

**This isn't my favorite chapter, but what do you think? Reviews would be greatly appreciated!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	16. Chapter 16

**First, an enormous thank-you goes out to **_Savysnape7 _**for reviewing last chapter! :) Now, those of you who have read my Beejo (Beetee/Johanna) story _We're Not The Same_ may find this chapter a bit, ah, similar, simply because we're in the same canon. Granted, it's different to fit the circumstances, but the dialogue and reactions are quite similar simply because the situations are so similar—well, more than similar, the situations are identical. But enjoy nonetheless. :)**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

* * *

The strategy meeting to discuss taking the Nut occurs bright and early the next morning. Lyme, a Hunger Games victor and commander from 2, is assisting us. She lays out the blueprint of the Nut, walks us through failed plans, and then allows us to ask questions and offer suggestions. Many insist that we simply storm the entrances of the Nut; though it's failed many times before, it _does_ seem like the most straightforward plan—at least, on paper.

"The next person who suggests we take the entrances better have a brilliant way to do it," Lyme finally snaps, "because _you're_ going to be the one leading that mission!"

I lean back in my chair and clasp my forehead, sighing. I suppose I can't blame her for her impatience considering how many of her soldiers have been killed attempting the plan. Gale stares out the window, as he's been doing for most of this meeting, and is clearly deep in thought; I turn my gaze to him, wondering if that spark in his gray eyes comes from having discovered something. And sure enough, I'm proven correct.

"Is it really so necessary that we take the Nut?" he says, turning to us. "Or would it be enough to disable it?"

I nod, impressed with his thinking. "That would be a step in the right direction. What do you have in mind?" I ask.

"Think of it as a wild dog den. You're not going to fight your way in. So you have two choices. Trap the dogs in or flush them out," he explains.

Lyme interjects. "We've tried bombing the entrances. They're set too far inside the stone for any real damage to be done."

"I wasn't thinking of that," Gale replies. "I was thinking of using the mountain." He gestures for me to come over and I gaze out at the enormous mountain. I look closely, narrowing my eyes, and Gale says, "See? Running down the sides?"

Suddenly, I do. "Avalanche paths," I murmur. I formulate a plan. "It'd be tricky. We'd have to design the detonation sequence with great care, and once it's in motion, we couldn't hope to control it."

"We don't need to control it," says Gale, "if we give up the idea that we have to possess the Nut. Only shut it down."

In spite of herself, Lyme seems genuinely impressed with him. "So you're suggesting we start avalanches and block the entrances?" she infers.

Gale nods. "That's it. Trap the enemy inside, cut off from supplies. Make it impossible for them to send out their hovercraft."

Not for the first time, I'm genuinely impressed with him—however, Boggs doesn't seem to reciprocate this feeling. His face is set grimly as he sifts through a collection of blueprints of the Nut. "You risk killing everyone inside," he says. "Look at the ventilation system. It's rudimentary at best. Nothing like we have in Thirteen. It depends entirely on pumping in air from the mountainsides. Block those vents and you'll suffocate whoever is trapped."

I pause to think. "They could still escape through the train tunnel to the square," I say.

Gale scowls at me. "Not if we blow it up," he says.

Silence follows.

Because Gale is my friend and I understand his suffering despite my objections to his plan, I keep my voice void of emotion when I speak. "The majority of the workers are citizens from Two."

"So what? We'll never be able to trust them again," he counters.

"They should at least have a chance to surrender," Lyme insists.

I nod in agreement, as does another handful of people. "Well, that's a luxury we weren't given when they firebombed Twelve," Gale snarls, "but you're all so much cozier with the Capitol here."

I grit my teeth, shaking my head in Gale's direction in silent insistence that he cease baiting an armed commander. He and Lyme are equal in height, but she's almost twice his girth and all muscle—the product of coming from a wealthy, Capitol-favored district like 2, unlike Gale and I, who come from two very poor, disliked districts, 12 and 3 respectively. However, Lyme's outrage only adds fuel to his fire; he raises his voice and hollers, "We watched children burn to death and there was nothing we could do!"

I can't help but understand him. Gale's lust for revenge is not entirely unjustified. As I peer around the rest of the meeting's attendees, I see Katniss curled up in the windowsill, staring out and seeming grave. I try to decipher what she's thinking. Does she agree with Gale, or does she feel the same dissent that I do despite her friendship—or whatever else there is between them? Her face unreadable, she slides off the sill and crosses over to her best friend, grasping his wrist. "Gale," she says, "the Nut's an old mine. It'd be like causing a massive coal mining accident."

So Katniss doesn't agree. I didn't think she would. Not only that, both her and Gale's fathers died in a coal mining accident. If there are any words to make him reconsider, these are them. However, he seems to recognize her tactic and is a few steps ahead. "But not so quick as the one that killed our fathers," he snaps. He turns to the rest of the group. "Is that everyone's problem? That our enemies might have a few hours to reflect on the fact that they're dying, instead of just being blown to bits?"

"You don't know how those District Two people ended up in the Nut," Katniss insists. "They may have been coerced. They may be held against their will. Some are our own spies. Will you kill them, too?"

Once again, Gale doesn't fall victim to her ploy. I suppose he simply knows her too well. "I would sacrifice a few, yes, to take out the rest of them. And if I were a spy in there, I'd say, 'Bring on the avalanches!'"

"You said we had two choices. To trap them in or flush them out," says Boggs. "I say we try to avalanche the mountain but leave the train tunnel alone. People can escape into the square, where we'll be waiting for them."

"Heavily armed, I hope. You can be sure they'll be," says Gale.

"Heavily armed," Boggs repeats, nodding. "We'll take them prisoner."

"Let's bring District Thirteen into the loop now. Let President Coin weigh in," I interject.

"She'll want to block the tunnel," Gale insists.

"Yes, most likely," I agree. "But you know, Peeta did have a point in his propos. About the dangers of killing ourselves off. I've been playing with some numbers. Factoring in the casualties and the wounded and...I think it's at least worth a conversation."

Ironically enough, it's my plan—that both plans be discussed more thoroughly—that is selected as the best one. Not everyone is allowed to take part in this discussion, however; Gale isn't, and neither is Katniss. I am, though, as are Lyme and Boggs. A few other various commanders are as well. We only have to converse for a short while; our decision is unanimous. When President Coin is contacted for her opinion, she agrees. Gale's plan will be enacted, but without the blockage of the train tunnel so that the workers can escape. By the time six o'clock rolls around, we're ready to put the plan into motion.

Within hours, the Nut is a viscous pile of rubble. Everyone, minus the soldiers, is ushered into the Justice Building. And then the battle begins. Survivors from the Nut are injured but armed and ready; our soldiers are just as prepared to fight not only them but the Peacekeepers flanking to their defense. Every outdoor light is activated to its full extent and the square is alien in its brightness; the Peacekeepers in their white uniforms especially seem inhuman because of how reflective they are.

The fighting continues well into the night. At two o'clock in the morning, Katniss reluctantly agrees to give a speech to discourage 2's forces from continuing the battle when the rebels have already won. It's clear, however, that they don't plan to cater to her whims so easily. Two trains arrive in the train station behind the Justice Building, carrying District 2 citizens that are wounded, but armed and prepared to fight to the death. Defiant cries mingle with pain-filled moans.

Something catches Katniss's eye, and suddenly, she rushes to a wounded young man crying, "Stop! Hold your fire! Stop!"

We stare at her, first transfixed, then horrified as the man takes his gun and aims for the Mockingjay's skull. She freezes.

"Give me one rerason I shouldn't shoot you," the man snarls; the gaping hole in his cheek makes his speech almost unintelligible.

Katniss stares, wide-eyed. Her answer surprises everyone. "I can't," she says.

The man's perplexity mirrors that of his allies and the rebels. "I can't," Katniss repeats. "That's the problem, isn't it? We blew up your mine. You burned my district to the ground. We've got every reason to kill each other. So do it. Make the Capitol happy. I'm done killing their slaves for them."

She drops the bow I made for her in Special Defense. The man is kneeling, and the bow skids over to his knees. "I'm not their slave," he mutters.

"I am. That's why I killed Cato...and he killed Thresh...and he killed Clove...and she tried to kill me," replies Katniss, referring to her first Hunger Games. "It just goes around and around, and who wins? Not us. Not the districts. Always the Capitol. But I'm tired of being a piece in their Games."

We wait on tenterhooks for the man's reaction. When he doesn't reply, Katniss continues her speech—and as she talks, I'm suddenly aware of why we made her the Mockingjay. She is truly perfect for the role; I can almost hear the waves of revolution sweeping across the nation at her words. Perhaps Peeta taught her a thing or two before the Capitol warped him.

"Please!" Katniss cries out, holding out her arms. "Join us!"

Her words ring out to everyone across Panem. Someone in the crowd, however, isn't as impressed as I am. Because a few moments after Katniss is done speaking, that someone shoots her.

Soldiers are immediately taming the crowd from 2, but most of their fight is gone. Medics hurry out to Katniss, who seems unconscious; luckily, her Mockingjay armor should make it so that the bullet didn't penetrate. As she's brought to a hovercraft for transportation back to 13, I overhear Boggs say that he believes 2 is now ours. This means I'll be returning to 13 as well.

Quickly, I approach Boggs, tug his shirtsleeve, and say, "Could you get me to a telephone, please? I need to make a call."

Seeming confused, Boggs agrees. After he shows me how to make the contact I need to—dial 9 for the hospital, 1 five times for Ward E, and the numbers 226 for Room 226—he leaves me be. Though it's not even four in the morning, Wiress answers with a sleepy "Hello?"

"Wiress?"

Her voice immediately brightens at the sound of my voice. "Beetee," she says. "Hi."

"Hi. I have good news, Wiress, sweetheart." I peer around to assure my privacy. No one seems to be paying me much attention.

"What?"

"We won. We got it. The Nut."

"Nut?"

I realize she probably doesn't know what that means. "We took District Two, Wiress. I'm coming back, tonight, most likely. I'll see you tomorrow evening."

"Home," she whispers.

"Yes, Wiress. I'll be with you again by tomorrow—and wherever you are is where my home is."

Suddenly, Boggs approaches me. "I hate to cut this short, Romeo," he says with a small smirk, "but we need to leave."

"Beetee? Who's...?"

"His name is Boggs, Wiress. He's a commander from Thirteen. He was just saying that we need to leave now."

"Home?"

"Yes, darling, I'm coming home. I'll see you soon."

"Love."

I smile. "Yes, Wiress, I love you, too."

"Bye-bye, Beetee."

"Bye-bye, Wiress."

When I turn back to Boggs, I see he's still smirking, albeit a bit wearily. "You need to teach me some of your moves when it comes to women, Beetee," says Boggs. "She absolutely adores you."

I smile. "Yes, she does."

"How do you do it?" he asks as we make our way back toward the hovercraft. I shrug.

"To be honest, I think I just got lucky with Wiress," I explain.

"Lucky?"

"Yes," I say, settling into my seat and leaning my head back. All of my exhaustion hits at once, and I decide immediately that I'm going to take a nap. "Don't let anyone draw on my face, alright?"

Boggs chuckles. "Got it."

I ponder it as I drift off. Am I lucky that I found Wiress? I think so. At any rate, when I'm with her, I feel like the luckiest man in the whole wide world.

* * *

**So, not an interesting chapter per se, as we were stuck in canon for most of it, but leave a review anyway! And who knows? Maybe Beetee will come through and give Boggs dating advice! XD**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	17. Chapter 17

Even with the nap I took on the hovercraft, I find it difficult to stay lucid the next morning when I meet the Airtime Assault team in Special Defense to be briefed on new strategies and whatnot. Annie happily informs me at lunch that I've dunked my elbow into my stew at lunchtime. Apparently, whatever the clothes in 13 are made of does not improve the flavor. Nonetheless, despite my exhaustion, I'm beaming by the time five o'clock rolls around, as the schedule on my arm reads, _5:00—Visit hospital, Ward E, Room 226_. Wiress, of course. Not only that, I'm not scheduled to leave until _7:00—Report to Special Weaponry_. Two whole hours, including dinner, with Wiress. Of course, I'd love to spend the entire day with her, but I suppose I should be grateful for what I get.

I wash my face with cold water to eradicate some of the tiredness, and then, trying not to run, I depart for the hospital. My schedule is checked and double-checked, and finally, I'm permitted to walk up to the door and knock. "Wiress?" I call. "It's me."

I hear her give a shriek of delight and scramble to the door before throwing it open, beaming. If it weren't for her newfound dislike of contact, I think she'd hug me. Even without a hug, I'm happy enough with the mingled joy and happiness on her face. As soon as I enter the room and close the door behind me, Wiress cries, "Wait here!" and scurries off. Amused, I watch as she returns with a folded piece of white paper, which she happily holds out to me. "For you," she says. "Drew it myself."

Smiling, I unfold the paper and discover a sketch of two people with a little heart over them. It isn't master artistry—it's reminsicent of something a toddler might draw, to be honest—but as the saying goes, it's the thought that counts. And what thought it is. Not only is it very sweet, I can tell by the glasses that the lopsided male is supposed to be me, which means that the female in the triangular dress must be her. Wiress looks at me, eager for approval, and I say, "This is lovely, Wiress. Thank you."

She beams. "Welcome back present," she explains.

"Well, I'm sorry. If I had known, I would have gotten you something, too," I say.

Wiress shakes her head, still smiling, and points to me. "My present," she says. I smile as she scampers over to her bed and pats the place in front of her, inviting me to sit with her. I do so, and immediately, she peers at my face. "Sleepy," she says.

"No, I'm fine," I say, but my words are punctuated by a yawn. Wiress shakes her head and slides off the mattress, kneeling in front of me and tugging my shoes off one by one. "What are you doing, dear?" I ask, half amused, half curious. Enigmatically, Wiress puts her hands on my shoulders, careful to keep our skins from coming in contact, and manipulates my body so that I'm lying on my side with my head on the pillow. She drapes the blue crochet blanket covering the comforter over my torso and declares, "Sleep."

"No, Wiress, I'm fine," I insist, but when I try to sit up, she forces me back down with a smile.

"Sleep," she repeats.

"Wiress, honey, I came to spend time with you—"

She takes my arm and rolls my sleeve up to look at my schedule. "Sleep now," she says, "or you'll be...too sleepy for seven. Special Weaponry."

"But Wiress—"

"Shh," she whispers, putting her fingertip over my lips. The touch is brief, but it still happens. It delights me, as do a number of other things—her kindness that hasn't faded, the closeness of me sleeping beside her, and most of all, the joy at knowing that her mind is still functioning enough to form such a complex idea as hiding me in her room so that I can sleep before going back to work. Finally, I consent, and Wiress tucks the blue blanket around me. Then, she very quickly touches her lips to my forehead. "Goodnight," she says.

"I'll only be asleep for about twenty minutes or so, a half an hour at the most," I answer, yawning again. Wiress smiles.

"Goodnight," she repeats. At first, I worry that she forgot she already said it, but I decide she's simply waiting for a proper response.

"Goodnight, Wiress," I say, closing my eyes and smiling. In my sleep, I feel soft fingertips trail over my cheek; I don't know if I'm imagining it or if Wiress is really touching me, but I pretend that she is and am lulled into the sweetest of dreams.

* * *

I'm woken by the sound of a spoon clattering around the inside of a bowl, as if someone's eating soup or stew. Blearily, I sit up and discover Wiress sitting beside me, still in those pink pajamas, a tray in her lap and a bowl of stew on the tray. Alarmed, I ask, "Wiress, what time is it?"

"Six-fifty," she responds with a smile. She reaches forward and tousles my hair with her hand. "Good morning, sleepyhead."

"I was asleep for almost two hours?" I ask incredulously.

"Yes," says Wiress. She ladles some stew onto her spoon, holds it out to me, and says, "Blow."

Confused, I do so, and she surprises me by slipping the spoon between my lips and tilting it downward, enticing me to swallow. When I do, she removes the spoon and asks, "Good?"

"Actually, yes," I say, peering forward. "What is that?"

Her face contorts in concentration, and after a moment, she answers, "Fish and beet stew."

I blink. "Tastes better than it sounds," I say. Wiress giggles. "Since I won't make it to the cafeteria in time," I add, sliding closer, "I suppose it wouldn't be too much to ask you to share—"

"No!" Wiress cries with another giggle, pushing me away by the shoulders and guarding her bowl. "Mine!"

We continue like this for a little while, but eventually, Wiress _does _share. Seven o'clock comes much too quickly for my liking, and when I get up to leave, Wiress says, "Come back before bed?"

I peer at my schedule. I'm to work in Special Weaponry—undoubtedly with Gale—from seven to eight, after which I'm to return to Compartment 2393—Annie has yet to be assigned a compartment, but she pretty much lives with Finnick and I; luckily, they keep the noise level down at night—to bathe and go to bed. Bathing doesn't take too long; I suppose I could drop by for a brief visit beforehand. I smile and say, "Of course."

She smiles and escorts me to the door. "Bye-bye," she says endearingly.

I smile back. "Bye-bye, Wiress."

Whistling, I depart for Special Weaponry and spend the hour of seven working with Gale; though I enjoy his company, the time passes with agonizing slowness. Finally, though, eight o'clock comes around and I immediately jump to my feet. "I have to go," I say happily.

"Bye," mutters Gale, still sketching. I suppose I shouldn't make such a big deal of it with his complicated relationship with Katniss, but I can't help it. I'm too overjoyed.

Before I return to the hospital, I enter the replicated meadow and arrange another bouquet of wildflowers for Wiress. The ones I gave her earlier have died, so new ones will undoubtedly delight her. After assuring myself that no parasites are nesting in the flowers, I cheerfully retrace my footsteps and find myself at the door to Room 226 once more. I knock twice on the door. "Wiress? It's me again."

This time, she doesn't answer. Perplexed, I enter her room and discover that it's empty. Replacing the flowers in the vase by her bed, I call, "Wiress? Wiress, where are you?"

A sound reaches my ears, one that tears at my heart. Angry grunts mixed with muffled sobs. Immediately, I abandon the flowers and begin searching for her. "Wiress!"

The bathroom door is slightly ajar. Terrified at what I'll find, I open it.

Wiress stands in front of the sink, her pajama top discarded by her feet. Wearing only her pink pajama pants and her white cotton bra, she furiously hacks at her long, dark hair with a pair of scissors. Large clumps of that beautiful hair already cover the ground. Alarmed, I cry, "Wiress, stop!"

I gain her attention, but she continues. I have no choice but to grab her and yank the scissors from her hand; she shudders when we touch simply because so much skin is exposed. Suddenly, the fight drains out of her and her eyes fill with tears; Wiress backs toward the bathtub and sits on the edge, her face in her hands, sobbing. I approach her gingerly and touch her hair, once so long and lovely, is now chopped at odd lengths. Some pieces reach her shoulders, others only jut about an inch from her skull. Woefully, I finger it, whispering, "Wiress, why?"

She refuses to answer and only continues crying. Gently, I help her up and have her sit in front of me on the bathroom floor, and then, with tears in my eyes at what I have to do, I take the scissors and carefully continue cutting her hair until it's as even as possible, arranging it so that the few bald spots she made are covered. When I'm done, it looks decent, but it's nothing compared to what it once was. I tearfully look at the hair littering the floor, at Wiress's numb expression, and again whisper, "Wiress, honey, why? Why?"

This time, she answers. "She said it was pretty," she mumbles.

"Who said that?"

"One of the a-aides. Brushing it. She said it was p-pretty."

Gently running my fingers over Wiress's new, brutally short haircut, I whisper, "Why would you cut it, then?"

Tortuously, she looks back toward me. "Because men l-like pretty women," she says.

I'm frightened that she's speaking so completely. It means that her thoughts are well-developed, serious, heartfelt, reminiscent of what she truly feels deep, deep inside—and I don't like where this is going one bit. "And why would that bother you?"

She only has to say six words to rip my heart to pieces. In a quiet, matter-of-fact voice, she says, "They called me the pretty one."

I exhale deeply, my tears escaping my eyes and sliding down my cheeks. Those bastards in the Capitol hurt Wiress enough to make her hack off her hair so that she didn't look appealing to any male. For her own protection. I want to hold her, to assure her that they'll never hurt her again no matter how pretty she looks, but surely that will only traumatize her further. Instead, with a heavy heart, I gather all of the hair on the floor and seal it in a plastic bag before helping clean any excess from Wiress's head and shoulders. Then, I help her into her pajama top and take her back into her room, where she sits on the bed and runs her fingers over her hair. I kneel before her and murmur, "Wiress, do you still trust me?"

She nods. I reach instinctively to cup her cheek, but she tenses when my hand nears her face, so I stop halfway and brace it on my knee. "I will never let anyone hurt you ever again," I whisper. "Never."

Wiress has tears in her eyes again. "I know," she whispers back. Shyly, she crawls under the blankets and whimpers, "Tuck me in, please?"

"Of course, my love," I murmur. I tuck the blanket around her so that she's comfortable, and I'm filled with rage at the way she shudders involuntarily when my hands reach her hips. I try not to let it show to keep from scaring her, and before I leave, I lightly trail my fingertips over her cheek. The touch is feather-light and brief, but Wiress makes no move to resist. She simply closes her eyes and whispers, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Wiress. I love you. Remember it while you sleep, darling, and when you wake, remember that it will still be true, that it will _always _be true," I say softly.

She nods, but before I leave, she says, "Beetee, wait."

I return to her. "Yes?"

With large, scared eyes, she whispers, "Is it my fault, Beetee?"

My heart aches with sympathy. I approach her and sit with her on the bed. "No, no. Of course not," I assure her.

"Sometimes I l-let them," she whispers, face burning red with shame.

"I understand why you'd do that, dear. Anyone would. You let them to keep them from hurting you as much," I say.

"But s-sometimes when they g-got tired and k-kept g-going..." Wiress trails off, tears streaming down her cheeks. "It felt kind of good," she whispers. She weeps softly. "I _liked _it. And I hate myself for liking it, even if just a little bit."

"Wiress," I murmur, touching her wet, flaming cheek, "your body is made to feel pleasure when touched in certain ways. If you felt any pleasure at all, it isn't your fault."

"I tried not to," she whispers. "I really did. I...when there was pleasure...I thought of you, and then I felt a-ashamed because I shouldn't l-like being with another man when I had you. I felt like I betrayed you when they made it feel good."

"Wiress, Wiress, Wiress," I croon, lying beside her so that we're facing each other, "you did nothing wrong. What happened was _their _fault, not yours. I understand why you occasionally stopped fighting and even why it sometimes felt pleasurable for you, but you didn't betray me. You held on, Wiress, despite the hell you were going through. And I admire that. I...I probably wouldn't have been able to hold on like you did."

"Really?" she whispers.

"Really, really." Is it possible that I said the same thing before the Quell? It doesn't seem like it. "Now go to sleep, dear."

"Scared," whispers Wiress.

"Do you want me to stay with you, Wiress?"

"Yes." She pulls back her blankets and I kick off my shoes, climbing into bed with her. I'm careful to give her space, and she seems grateful for this. "I...love you."

This touches me like nothing else. How I wish I could touch her, kiss her, to consummate the undying truth of those words. Instead, I only whisper, "I love you, too," before placing my glasses on the bedside table and drifting to sleep beside her.

* * *

**What is fluffiness without angst? Don't worry—next chapter will end on a happy note. :) Until then, please review!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	18. Chapter 18

Wiress's sleep is wrought with nightmares, but I help chase away the ghosts for her. By morning, she dozes beside me, still exhausted, so I leave a note explaining my whereabouts as I return to my compartment to shower before heading off to Special Defense. When I walk in, however, I discover something that makes me stop in my tracks and beam despite my tiredness. Finnick, on one knee by the sofa in front of Annie, a small ring box in hand. I hide behind the sofa to keep the moment as private as possible as Finnick asks, "Will you marry me?"

Annie emits a wild shriek of delight and yanks him to his feet so that she can nearly tackle him with her embrace. She jumps up and down like a child as she cries, "Yes, yes, yes! Oh, yes!" Their lips meet in a passionate kiss before I step out from my hiding place and clear my throat.

His arms still around Annie, Finnick looks at me and grins. "Hey," he says. "So, have you heard the news? I'm getting married."

Annie nods, giggling excitedly.

"I did, actually. Congratulations," I say, smiling in spite of myself. Finnick must see how tense I look behind the smile, however, because he cups Annie's face after sliding the small, pristine ring onto her finger and says, "Annie, honey, why don't you find Johanna and show off your new ring? I'm sure she'll love it."

Immediately, Annie seems loath to leave him, but Finnick kisses her forehead and says, "I'll be there really soon. After I talk with Beetee. Then we'll go to the dining hall for breakfast and I'll show off my lovely new fiancée to everyone. Doesn't that sound fun?"

Nodding, Annie gives him a kiss before skipping toward the door, dizzy with delight. "I love you!" she calls before retreating down the hallway. We can hear her laughter even after Finnick closes the door and sits on the sofa.

"I take it you didn't have a sleepover with Gale last night," says Finnick.

I sigh. "I stayed with Wiress. She..." I look away. "She cut her hair, Finnick. She cut almost all of it."

"Why?" he asks.

"Because it was pretty," I answer bitterly. "And she didn't want it to be pretty. That's what they called her in the Capitol. 'The pretty one.'"

Finnick makes a sound of sympathy and wraps an arm around my shoulders. "She thinks she betrayed me because she didn't always fight them off just to keep them from breaking her bones or killing her," I whisper. "They would continue long after they tired, and sometimes, they inadvertently made their molestations slightly pleasurable for her. She didn't mean to feel pleasure, but she couldn't control it. She told me she hates herself for that."

"She'll come through, Beetee," says Finnick soothingly. "She's doing so well. The guilt and shame that comes from that sort of thing...believe me, I understand it." I blink. For a moment, I forgot. "It never goes away," he continues, "but you learn to look past it. You learn to love again, in all ways. I wasn't used the way Wiress was—not as roughly or brutally. But even though it may take some time, I think she'll be just like the Wiress from the Quell one day. She just needs lots of love." He eyes me thoughtfully. "Can you do that for her, Beetee?" He isn't being sarcastic—he really wants to know.

"Of course," I say.

"Good." Finnick smiles and pats my back. "Maybe the head doctors will let her come to the wedding," he muses. "That would be good for her, if she sticks with you. Because you're going to my wedding even if I have to drag you by your feet and tape you to the wall."

This elicits the laugh he was probably going for. "I'll talk to Dr. Aurelius about it," I say. "I can't really see him refusing."

"Neither can I," says Finnick.

* * *

We were wrong.

"Beetee, I understand that having a loved one in a psychiatric ward makes you hunger for normalcy," says Dr. Aurelius, "but I don't think sending Wiress into that large a crowd would be good for her at the moment."

"With all do respect, doctor, I know her. You don't," I answer. "Keeping her cooped up in that room all the time _can't _be good for her. She _wants _to feel some kind of normalcy. She already thinks so lowly of herself—"

"Beetee, you were there during the hair-cutting incident the other day," he interrupts. "Imagine if she had used those scissors to disfigure herself even worse—say, slit her wrists, or even her throat. She isn't stable."

"But she _wants_ to go!" I argue. This is true; I was sure to inform Wiress about the wedding before asking for permission to receive her unadulterated opinion, and she was enthusiastic about the idea. She isn't the only one, either; not only does Finnick think Wiress should go, Annie does as well. Even Plutarch thinks so; he's making a propo out of the event and wants as many victors there as possible, especially the previously imprisoned ones. He even had Flavius, a member of Katniss's prep team, properly style Wiress's shorter hair for the event. Despite all these people insistent on Wiress's attendance, Dr. Aurelius still seems doubtful. "Suppose she has an anxiety attack from being so surrounded," he says.

"I'll stay with her the entire time. I'll keep her calm," I say.

Finally, after much cajolery and many puppy-dog-eyed looks from Wiress and Annie, Dr. Aurelius consents. He insists that Wiress have a pager to contact one of her aides in the instance she _does _begin to panic from the crowd. Wiress is nothing short of delighted to be part of such a joyous event and throws herself into helping with decorations and the like. District 4 has an ancient wedding song, and though Wiress offers to sing, it's decided that a choir of children will perform it. This doesn't faze her in the slightest, and she continues to infect everyone with her enthusiasm. Unfortunately, Coin is not easily swayed. She and Plutarch have many, many arguments about the details. How many people should come? Will there be a dinner? What will the couple wear? Will there be alcohol? What about entertainment? Coin's answer are less than fifty, no, everyday clothes, absolutely not, and no. Plutarch scrapes up what she _does _allow, and by the next Saturday, we all gather in the dining hall to watch Annie, dressed in a lovely, flowing gown of sea green that precisely matches her eyes, float down the makeshift aisle toward her fiancé. Finnick wears a simple suit I believed once belonged to Peeta, but their clothes are nothing compared to the smiles on their faces. While Dalton from 10 conducts the ceremony, Wiress finds me and slips her arm around mine, smiling shyly. I glance at her—her gray blouse matches those of all women in 13, but her skirt is a masterpiece of colors all woven together. "Where'd you get that?" I whisper.

"Made it," she mouths back. "Lots of free time."

I give her a gentle squeeze; she tenses initially, but after a moment, she leans against my arm and smiles again. It takes all my self-control not to interrupt Annie's vows to start cheering, though I get my chance when Dalton pronounces them Mr. and Mrs. Finnick Odair and declares, "You may kiss the bride."

It takes almost two and a half minutes before they finally have to come for air. Finnick is grinning like a fool. Annie is blushing and giggling madly as Finnick picks her up and swings her in a circle. Shortly after, a fiddler from 12 begins to play, and soon, the entire dining hall is alive with happy, dancing feet.

Wiress is still at my arm, humming to the music, but she suddenly grabs my hand and says, "Dance with me."

"Wiress, you know how I feel about dancing," I say gently. "Not unless I'm behind locked doors and all the lights are off."

She glowers. "Dance with me," she repeats.

I can't help but laugh. Wiress simply does not take _no _for an answer. I allow her to lead me onto the dance floor, and, although neither of us possess any real talent, we dance. Finnick and Annie soon approach us, and on a whim, we trade partners. Annie is much more graceful than me, and she laughs as I struggle to mimic her steps. "I'll take care of him," she finally says over the sounds of dancing, laughing, and music.

I smile. "Didn't doubt it for a second, Annie."

Soon, we switch back, and Wiress is in my arms for the first time since the rescue. She seems a bit tense at the closeness, but she's still smile as we twirl together. We continue until I finally admit that I need to rest—though I can walk unaided, my back still ails me from time to time—and by then, everyone has turned their attention to a massive wedding cake being rolled in. Wiress touches my arm. "Do you think...?"

"Peeta frosted that?" We knew he was a baker, but I didn't think he'd be stable enough. "Possibly."

Because of the sheer amount of guests, it takes some time to give everyone a piece, but soon, each person has a paper plate with a piece of cake on it and a plastic fork. Finnick and Annie sit at one of the tables, feeding each other and smiling for the cameras, and to my surprise, Wiress hands me her cake and joins them. She takes Annie's hand, scoops up a handful of frosted cake, and smothers it purposely over Finnick's face.

Silence follows. At first, even I'm worried that Wiress has simply panicked and done something uncharacteristically spiteful, and a few mutter to call security. Soon, however, Finnick grins, picks up a handful of his own cake, and mimics the gesture, coating Annie's nose and mouth with cake. She laughs, and they continue; Plutarch's camera crew strains to catch every single adorable moment, and Wiress drifts over to me again, smiling at the cuteness she initiated. I look at her hand and discover it's still coated in cake and frosting; smiling, I say, "Maybe we should go get you cleaned up."

Wiress nods; she seems a bit tired, anyway. I gently take her clean hand and lead her through the crowd laughing good-naturedly at Finnick and Annie's food fight to take her to a restroom and then back to her room for bed. Once in the hallway, Wiress freezes. "What's wrong, dear?" I ask.

Smiling, Wiress takes the hand lathered in cake and swipes it across my face, coating it thoroughly in the desert. I move to wipe the turquoise frosting from my glasses when she suddenly puts her hands on either side of my face and presses her mouth to mine.

Our kiss lasts either a few seconds or a few minutes; I stay completely still, loath to ruin the moment by overwhelming her. When Wiress pulls away, I smile at the blush visible beneath the blue-green frosting, swipe her burning cheek with my fingertip, and slide my finger into my mouth, sucking clean the frosting and raising my eyebrows. Wiress laughs, and upon realizing that I must look at least as ridiculous as she does with frosting all over my face, I laugh, too. Finally, we make it back to the hospital, sure to be quiet, and clean ourselves up in her bathroom. I leave and allow her to change into her pajamas; afterward, I tuck her into bed, but she suddenly cups my face once more and gives me another kiss. This time, the kiss is simple and slow, and I caress her cheek while gently moving my lips against hers. After a few seconds, I pull, back, kiss her forehead for good measure, and whisper, "What made you want to do that?"

"I missed our kisses," she whispers back, smiling. "You taste like cake and sunshine."

"I wasn't aware sunshine had a taste," I respond.

She giggles softly. "It might not," she admits. "But I always imagined it as tasting like you."

Carefully, I kiss her one last time before murmuring, "Goodnight, my little mouse."

"Goodnight, my sunshine."

I laugh gently, touching her cheek and marveling at how relaxed she seems, and head off to my compartment to sleep. Something tells me Finnick will not be joining me tonight. Humming cheerfully, I bathe, change into pajamas, and climb into bed, practically glowing with happiness. Finnick and Annie are married. Wiress still loves me, and after just a few weeks, she's already kissing me again. Suddenly, I have an epiphany. I'll see how she's doing when the war is over, but if she continues to progress like this, when—because the opposite is not an alternative—we win the war and return to 3, I will propose to her. And with any luck, she will be completely unafraid to consummate our marriage when the wedding night comes around. With these happy thoughts in mind, I drift to sleep, still humming tunelessly.

* * *

**:) Can I write fluff, or can I write fluff? Please leave a review! I will update ASAP!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	19. Chapter 19

When I slip into Wiress's room early the next morning a few days later, I discover that she's still sleeping. I replace her old flowers with new ones—luckily, they seem to grow back very quickly in that meadow—and smile as her eyelids flutter open. Wiress gazes adoringly at me as I kneel by her, lightly touching her cheek. Her shiver is involuntarily, but much less dramatic than those of before. She leans her face into my palm after a moment. "Good morning, Wiress," I say.

"Hi." She yawns and stretches. "I had...lovely dreams. Cake and kissing and weddings and a certain handsome inventor."

Grinning, I take her invitation and sit by her on the bed. "Do tell me more about this certain handsome inventor. Do I know him?" I tease.

"Perhaps," says Wiress coyly. She pokes me in the ribs. "Dark hair, incredible eyes. Glasses. Sexy smile." I'm a little shocked at her use of the word _sexy_, but thrilled nonetheless. "Very, very smart."

"Ah, I see. I'm green with envy," I murmur, smiling and resting my forehead against hers. Wiress's breathing stops for a moment, but before I pull away, she cups my face and whispers, "Keep still."

I obey, closing my eyes as she diminishes the space between our lips. Her mouth moves hesitantly yet eagerly against mine; every instinct in me tells me to move, but I refuse to defy Wiress and instead stay frozen, even as she gently pulls us down, even as she moves so that my lips are brushing the faded bruises on her neck. My breath catches, but I only move to balance myself, not to continue. Wiress pushes me back after a moment, her breathing rough. "Too much?" I ask softly.

She nods, tears filling her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I assure her, lightly touching her hand. "I understand. Don't rush yourself, dear; only do what makes you comfortable."

Again, Wiress nods, smiling. She enters the bathroom to get dressed, and as soon as the door is closed, Dr. Aurelius comes in.

"Beetee," he says, slightly surprised.

"Hello, doctor," I say. "Wiress is in the bathroom."

"Ah. I didn't expect you, but I suppose it's best you be here, too." When Wiress comes out wearing the gray uniform of District 13—it's amazing how she can make even that beautiful—Dr. Aurelius says, "Sit down, please, Wiress."

She does, folding her legs beneath her and gingerly clasping my hand. I squeeze her fingers in reassurance.

"Now, Wiress," says Dr. Aurelius—I respect the way he addresses her directly—"we're all surprised at your amazing progress over the past few weeks and very proud of you."

She smiles. "Thank you."

"Don't thank him, Wiress. You deserve it," I tell her. She smiles even more.

"And after the success at the Odair wedding the other day, I had an epiphany." He clears his throat. "I'd like you to consider becoming an outpatient."

"A what?" says Wiress, seeming confused.

"An outpatient," repeats . "Instead of living in the hospital, you would move into a compartment, be imprinted with a daily schedule, and come to see me for therapy sessions."

"Just a few days ago, you deemed her too unstable to attend a wedding," I interject.

"Well, Beetee, I think you were right in saying that she would benefit," he answers. "And I think that this would also benefit her. A little freedom and independence never hurt anyone."

"Alone," Wiress whispers.

"You won't be alone, Wiress," says Dr. Aurelius kindly. He nods at me. "That's where Beetee comes in. If it's no trouble for either of you, I was thinking the two of you could simply move in together."

This settles quietly over both of us. "Why not?" I say. "I have an extra bed now that Finnick's living with Annie. I love having you around, Wiress. I'd be more than happy to have you as a roommate."

"And Wiress?" asks Dr. Aurelius.

She nods. "I'd...like that. A lot."

"Then it's settled," says Dr. Aurelius happily. "If you'll gather your things, we'll have you discharged by this afternoon. I'll send in an order for Beetee to disregard his schedule so that he can show you around."

We both nod. Dr. Aurelius departs to complete those tasks, and I help Wiress carefully remove her pictures from the walls. I make a folder out of construction paper and neatly tuck every precious blueprint and drawing inside. "We can put these in our compartment," I say, and she beams.

Other than the drawings, the only thing actually belonging to Wiress is the skirt, so I fold that and let her carry it as Dr. Aurelius returns. He removes Wiress's plastic medical bracelet and says, "You two are free to go. Beetee will show you how daily life works here. I'll see you tomorrow at eleven-thirty." He holds out his hand. Seeming a bit uncomfortable, she shakes it, and I happily lead her out of the hospital.

The walk to Compartment 2393 is straightforward, but Wiress insists upon taking the scenic route. She stops Ward C and surprises me by removing her blueprints and giving her drawings to a doctor passing with instructions to distribute them equally among the kids. We stop by at Ward D as well, the long-term care ward, and she gives away the skirt she made to a woman who recently had both legs amputated at the knees. Her kindness never ceases to amaze me.

Wiress wants to see every inch of 13, but I say, "Wiress, honey, it's about the size of Three. It'd take days to see everything. Wouldn't you rather see where you'll be living for the next few weeks?"

After some cajoling, she agrees, and I take her to Compartment 2393. It consists of a sofa, a chest of drawers, and two beds separated by a bedside table. Wiress puts her blueprints on the dresser and looks through her drawer; it seems as if Finnick's clothes have already been replaced by women's clothes. After a small tour of some of the larger sites in 13, such as Special Defense and Command, I bring her to the dining hall for dinner. She's only ever been in here for the Odair wedding, so she seems a bit nervous as she takes in the large crowd and receives her portion of beef stew. I guide her to a table where I see Finnick and Annie, along with Katniss, Gale, Johanna, and a blond woman I don't recognize, and ask, "Can we sit here?"

"Of course not," Johanna scoffs.

Finnick rolls his eyes, smiling. "Be nice, Jo," he tells her. To Wiress and I, he says, "Of course you can."

We take seats across from each other, me next to Finnick, Wiress next to Katniss, and Katniss says, "Oh, I forgot. You two haven't met Delly." The blond woman, no older than twenty, smiles and waves at us. "Wiress, Beetee," says Katniss, "this is Delly. Delly, that's Wiress and Beetee."

"Also known as Nuts and Volts," adds Johanna snidely. "She's Nuts and he's Volts."

I narrow my eyes. One of my favorite things about 13 was the absence of anyone using that annoying nickname. Delly seems to notice that it bothers us and uses our actual names when conversing. "So, are you from here, Delly?" I ask.

"No," she says brightly. "I'm from Twelve. I was in Katniss's class at school. We weren't such good friends then, of course," she adds, smiling at Katniss. The juxtaposition of their two very different personalities makes me chuckle.

"Delly's real nice," says Johanna. "Kind of nauseating, though." She spoons more stew into her mouth.

Delly just laughs as if Johanna complimented her. "Isn't she funny?" she asks us with a sigh. "Oh, I wish I could be like you, Johanna. You're so strong but so kind."

I blink. "Are you feeling alright, Delly?"

"Yes," says Delly happily. "Why do you ask?"

"You just called Johanna Mason kind," I explain.

Wiress kicks me from under the table to tell me not to be so tactless. I focus my attention on my meal and listen as Finnick says, "Now, I had some dry salmon strips, and I was trying to bait the sea turtle with it so he'd give me back my hat. I was like, 'Hey, you! I need that! Come get some fish, you stupid turtle!'"

We laugh, but suddenly, Katniss stops. We turn to the empty seat beside Johanna and see none other than Peeta, handcuffed and accompanied by a pair of guards. Shamelessly, we all stare. Charismatic Delly says, "Peeta! It's so nice to see you out…and about."

"What's with the fancy bracelets?" Johanna asks.

"I'm not quite trustworthy yet. I can't even sit here without your permission," Peeta explains, nodding at the guards.

"Sure he can sit here. We're old friends," says Johanna, patting the space beside her. The guards nod and Peeta takes a seat. "Peeta and I had adjoining cells in the Capitol," she says. "We're very familiar with each other's screams."

Wide-eyed, Annie slaps her hands over her ears. Finnick shoots her a dirty look.

"What? It's true," she says defensively. She looks over at Wiress. "Isn't that right, Nuts? Surely you remember; you were right next to me, and if I could hear you, surely you could—"

"That's enough, Johanna," I interrupt in a quiet, dangerous voice.

"Is today Hate on Johanna Day or something?" she snaps. "I'm just speaking my mind. My head doctor says I'm not supposed to censor my thoughts. It's part of my therapy."

I reach across the table and clasp Wiress's hand, but she shudders violently. Her eyes are blank and filled with tears; I continue gently caressing her hand with mine until she finally rejoins us. Finnick seems to be doing the same for Annie. In the meantime, the rest of our group pretends they're still interested in their meals.

"Annie, did you know it was Peeta who decorated your wedding cake?" says Delly in an attempt to bring back the cheer of before. Back home, his family ran the bakery and he did all the icing."

"Thank you, Peeta," says Annie, looking at him warily. "It was beautiful."

"My pleasure, Annie," says Peeta.

"If we're going to fit in that walk, we better go. Good seeing you, Peeta," says Finnick. He picks up their trays while keeping a tight hold on his wife's hand.

"You be nice to her, Finnick," says Peeta coldly. "Or I might try and take her away from you."

We stare at him. Was that supposed to be a joke? It doesn't seem like it. Everyone shifts uncomfortably, and Finnick says, "Oh, Peeta. Don't make me sorry I restarted your heart." He then leads Annie away.

"He did save your life, Peeta," Delly reprimands. More than once."

"For her. For the rebellion. Not for me. I don't owe him anything," Peeta answers.

"Maybe not," Katniss answers. "But Mags is dead and you're still here. That should count for something."

"Yeah, a lot of things should count for something that don't seem to, Katniss," he says, narrowing his eyes. "I've got some memories I can't make sense of, and I don't think the Capitol touched them. A lot of nights on the train, for instance."

Again, we stare at them. Peeta is so...different. So cold. So dislikable. Wiress still seems like she's about to cry; I invite her over with a nod of my head and she takes Finnick's empty seat, leaning her head against my shoulder and sniffing. Peeta points at Katniss and Gale with his spoon and asks, "So, are you two officially a couple now, or are they still dragging out the star-crossed lover thing?"

"Still dragging," says Johanna boredly.

Peeta's hands twitch violently. We all tense up, including Gale. "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself," Gale says.

"What's that?" asks Peeta.

"You," says Gale.

"You'll have to be a little more specific. What about me?" asks Peeta.

"That they've replaced you with the evil-mutt version of yourself," explains Johanna.

Gale finishes his milk. "You done?" he asks Katniss. She nods, and the two of them leave. I slip an arm around Wiress to keep her from shaking, rubbing her back while shooting hard looks at Johanna.

"Peeta," cries Delly, "do you realize how rude that was? Katniss did so much for you, and all you did there was treat her like dirt! You should be nicer to her!"

"Katniss hasn't done anything for me," growls Peeta. Something flashes in his eyes. "Not that I remember. No, she didn't. Wait...no, she didn't, she didn't!"

"Peeta?" asks Delly, seeming concerned.

I take the opportunity to gather our trays and escort Wiress away from the group. As soon as we're out of the dining hall, she starts crying. "I'm sorry," I soothe, brushing her hair away from her forehead.

"She was right," whispers Wiress. "J-Johanna. And...when they were...Johanna y-yelled at them to keep their h-hands off me. I thought we were f-friends now..."

Despising Johanna with all my heart and soul, I lead Wiress to our compartment and tuck her into bed. Her sleep is again interrupted with nightmares, and I hold her as I've done many a time before, despite the way she tenses and shudders now. Deep down, I ask myself, _When will this ever end?_

* * *

**So, some new stuff added...I hope Jo, Delly, Katniss, etc. all seemed in-character. :) Not only that, I hope you review! I'll update soon.**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	20. Chapter 20

**Originally, I'd planned twenty chapters for this story, but never fear—this is **_**not **_**the last chapter. Now, I think I'll have about twenty-five chapters and an epilogue, and then, with ****any luck, I'll be able to continue working on **_**Labels **_**and **_**Fire & Rain**_**. I'd really hate to take them down because I can't get over writer's block...**

**More Delly, Finnick, Annie, and Jo in this chapter! I hope they're not OOC...tell me in a review? ;) And spe****aking of which, thank you, **_Savysnape7 _**and **_KTstoriesandstuff_**,****for yours! :)**** And while I'm on this topic, an anonymous reviewer commented on my newest Beeress oneshot, a songfic called **_**Broken**_**, and I would like to thank him/her extensively for his/her praise. :) Your support—and the support of my other reviewers—is what keeps me from just sitting around doing nothing! :)**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

* * *

"Wiress. Wiress, love, please wake up." I shake her by the shoulder, and after another minute or two, Wiress comes out of her nightmare with a sharp cry. Immediately, I embrace her and smooth her hair back, whispering, "It's okay, Wiress. You're with me. I won't let anyone hurt you."

Still shuddering, she nods. I gently kiss her forehead, relieved that she doesn't pull away. I then say, "We have breakfast in thirty minutes, Wiress. We should get dressed now." Her eyes dilate with fear. "Wiress, they won't let Peeta there again," I assure her. "And I won't let Johanna say anything to upset you."

Again, Wiress nods. "Schedule?" she asks.

"I don't know what yours is," I say, "but I'll show you how to get it."

We dress, and I lead Wiress over to the port in the wall. "You simply put your right arm in here, palm up," I explain. "It'll tattoo your schedule onto your forearm."

"Hurts?"

"No, it doesn't hurt," I say.

Wiress hesitantly rolls up her sleeve and does as I ask, and immediately, she begins to giggle and tremble. "It tickles!" she explains, still laughing.

Delighted at the sound, I lightly put a hand on her shoulder and hip to steady her so that her schedule is legible. After I receive my own, I peer at Wiress's and discover that after _7:00—Breakfast_, she has _7:30—Report to Special Defense_. I stare in confusion; no one ever said anything about Wiress working in Special Defense as well. Did Coin plan this? Or is Wiress simply going to watch me? I assume the latter, grasp her hand, and say, "Well, we best be going."

When we receive our bowls of hot grains and glasses of milk, we find Finnick, Annie, and Johanna sitting together. Despite the disaster that happened yesterday, I still lead Wiress to their table and we sit across from them. Johanna seems a bit moody when she sees us, but she doesn't seem to have time to say anything, as she's eating her breakfast so quickly I find myself wondering how she doesn't choke. Finnick eventually tells her to slow down. "No one's going to take it away from you, Jo," he says.

She shakes her head. "Can't be late for training," she answers with a mouthful of grains. Quickly, she finishes the bowl, downs her milk, and says, "See you all at dinner" before darting off to put away her tray. I stare after her.

"What was that about?" I question as I pick up my own spoon.

"Didn't you hear?" asks Finnick, his arm around Annie as she quite daintily spoons her breakfast into her mouth. "Jo's training to go to the Capitol. As part of the rebel army."

"Really?" I ask.

"Really," says Finnick. "So's Katniss. And—" His eyes dart to Annie, who puts down her glass of milk and regards him in askance. Smiling, Finnick says, "Milk mustache, Annie."

"Oh," she mutters. She fumbles for a napkin, but Finnick puts a finger under her chin, tilts her face to his, and says, "I'll get it."

I look away, as does Wiress. Finnick and Annie break off their kiss upon remembering that they have company. "Sorry," says Finnick.

"It's fine," I answer. Wiress will not look at any of us three.

Soon, a cheerful voice calls, "Hi, you guys!" Delly, the blond girl from 12, approaches us and sits in Johanna's vacated seat. "Hi," she says again, smiling.

"Hi," says Wiress with a small smile. She seems to be recovering from the memories Johanna conjured yesterday, and Delly assists her by giving us all that bright smile of hers. "Well," says Delly, picking up her spoon, "breakfast sure looks yummy today, doesn't it?"

"Um...sure," I say. Truthfully, it looks—and tastes—rather bland, but I'm not one to put a dapper on anyone's spirits.

"Well," says Finnick, standing, "I think we're going to go. Come on, dear."

Annie smiles and follows him as he takes their trays and departs, leaving Wiress and I with Delly. "So, where are you two from?" she asks .

"District Three," I answer.

"I've always admired people from Three," says Delly. "They're so smart—or is that just a stereotype?"

Wiress attempts to join the conversation. "For the most part..."

When she trails off, I finish, "It's true. We get the occasional dunce, of course, but then again—"

"Aw!" Delly cries, interrupting me. "That is so adorable! You two finish each other's sentences?"

"Only..."

"Sometimes," I say. "Not always."

Again, she squeals with delight. "That's adorable!" she says again. "Are you two a couple?"

I peer at Wiress, who nods with a smile. "Indeed we are," I say, feeling heartened.

"That's so sweet," says Delly brightly. "How long have you been together?"

"Twenty years," we say in unison.

"Oh, that is so sweet!" says Delly again. "You two are so sweet together! Oh, I wish _I _had someone who would be with me for twenty years..."

"And counting," I add.

"So, how did you two meet?" asks Delly. Before either of us can answer, Delly cries, "I just had an idea! Your name is Beetee, and hers is Wiress, and if you put them together you get...Beeress! It's your couple name!"

"Sounds like a flower," Wiress muses.

"Or an infectious disease," I mutter.

"How _did _you two meet?" asks Delly.

I peer at my schedule and say, "Gee, I'm sorry, Delly, but it looks as if we're going to have to cut this short. You see, we have to go."

"Oh," she says. She only seems slightly crestfallen. "Well, okay. Bye!"

"Bye," I say, taking Wiress's hand and our trays and disposing of the latter. When we leave the dining hall, I murmur to Wiress, "Note to self: Delly is sweet, but can only be tolerated in small doses."

She giggles as I lead her to Special Defense, and soon, she begins singing. Delighted, I sing along, not caring about the strange looks we get.

* * *

The Airtime Assault team is struck dumb when I bring Wiress into the room. Nervously, I tug at my shirt collar, wishing someone would say _something_, but Wiress seems oblivious to their astonishment and chirps, "Hi!"

A few members mumble a greeting in return, but most are completely silent. Clearing my throat, I say, "Wiress, my love, this is the Airtime Assault team. Airtime Assault team...Wiress."

Wiress pulls her hand from mine and immediately approaches a large, dark-skinned man named Samuel. "Hi," she says happily, holding out her hand. I smile, thrilled that she feels safe enough with me to shake the hands of these strangers. "Nice to meet you."

Samuel awkwardly shakes her hand, and Wiress skips to the next person, a redhead named Mart. "Hi! Nice to meet you," she says, holding out her hand once more. As I take my seat, I watch as Wiress approaches each of the twenty-three—excluding myself—members of the Airtime Assault team, greets them with an enthusiastic, "Hi! Nice to meet you," and then holds out her hand for a handshake. Some members let her shake their hands, and some even return her greeting; quite a few don't, however. Wiress seems unperturbed by this and suddenly cries, "Ooh!" before racing to the large television mounted on the wall. Her small fingers begin touching it in awe. "Wow," she whispers. Fascinated, Wiress explores every inch of the monitor before inspecting one of the computers; luckily, the one that catches her attention first is mine. Her curiosity is quite adorable, but it also keeps me—and the rest of the team, who seem annoyed at her exploration—from working, so I approach her as she stands on a chair, peering into the ventilation shaft. "Wiress," I say, clasping her hand, "why don't you come sit down, dear?"

Smiling, Wiress allows me to help her down and into a revolving chair at my side. Soon, she entertains herself by spinning in it; this seems to aggravate my peers even further, but at least we can all work and it keeps Wiress calm and happy. At eleven-thirty, I bring my very dizzy little mouse to Dr. Aurelius, promise to collect her at lunch, kiss her goodbye, and return to the Airtime Assault team. As soon as I reenter the room, all eyes are on me.

"Hello," I say, sitting back down.

I'm greeted with silence until burly, dark-skinned Samuel finally says, "I have to say it, Beetee. I never imagined you as the shallow type."

I gape at him. "I beg your pardon? What do you mean, 'the shallow type'?"

"Isn't it obvious?" says fiery-haired Mart. "You didn't pick that one for her intelligence!"

Flushing angrily, I shout to make my voice heard over the howls of laughter. "Wiress happens to be very intelligent!"

"Beetee, she has the mindset of a five-year-old!" crows a man who seems too small for his envelope of liver-spotted skin. I believe his name is Hepburn.

"She does not," I counter. "So she's a bit curious, and maybe she's a bit hyperactive as well. But she's a thirty-nine-year-old woman in body _and _mind."

"And how old are you? Sixty?" says Samuel.

I narrow my eyes. "Fifty-five," I correct. "But no matter the age difference; I've loved that woman for twenty years and—"

"Yeah, and I'm the granddaughter of President Snow!" Mart cackles, eliciting more laughter.

When it dies down, I say indignantly, "It's true!"

"Beetee, Beetee, Beetee," says Hepburn, placing a bony hand on my forearm, "you're in denial. Don't be so ashamed—we've all done it before."

"Done _what _before?" I ask.

"You know what," says Samuel. "Meet an insanely attractive, intellectually-challenged woman, like your Wiress. So you invite her over to hookup, and she ends up sticking to you like glue—"

Realizing what they all mean, I rise and shout, "Are you suggesting that I'm using Wiress for sexual purposes?!"

"More than a suggestion, Beetee," says Mart. "A damned obvious _observation_." Once again, the room erupts into fits of laughter.

"I would never," I growl. Just the idea is ridiculous, not to mention insulting. Never would I lay a finger on her unless she gave me not only her permission but proof that she actually _wanted _me to. The suggestions that my comrades are making—that Wiress is a child trapped in a woman's body, that I'm taking advantage of this—are enough to make my hands clench into fists. If they continue, I may just let fly without thinking of the consequences. I would go to any lengths to protect not only Wiress but also her reputation.

We're soon dismissed for lunch, and I impatiently march toward the door. "Are you bringing your girlfriend back, Beetee?" asks Mart.

"Yes," I retort. "And none of you are to mention a word of this conversation to her!"

"Please. Did you hear the language we used?" says Samuel. "She wouldn't understand it!"

"Damn you all!" I shout in frustration, storming off and covering my ears to keep from listening to their laughter.

* * *

When I collect Wiress from Dr. Aurelius's office, she greets me enthusiastically with a soft, gentle kiss on the lips. I offer my arm, and she happily takes it as we make our way to the dining hall. "What did you…?"

"Do in Special Defense while you were gone?" Nervously, I scramble to come up with a response. How would she react if I told her that I spent the entire time defending her intelligence and insisting that our love was real, not my testosterone-crazed plight for an unsuspecting mate? Not well, I presume. I shove aside my guilty conscience and answer, "Oh, nothing extraordinary. Aired a few new propos, mostly."

"Fun," says Wiress with a smile. As we receive our okra and sesame stew and search for a table, she says, "Your friends…they're nice."

Guiltily, I look away. Wiress may be intelligent, but Samuel, Mart, and Hepburn were right in saying that she was a bit childlike, especially in her naïveté. And I, being the coward I often am, don't correct her in saying that _no_, they are _not _nice, and instead lead her to where Annie and Delly are sitting. Both women smile as we take our seats. "Hi!" chirps Delly.

"Hello, Delly, Annie," I say.

Wiress smiles and waves. "Good today?" she asks.

"I suppose," says Annie. "It's a little tasteless, but a free meal is nothing to turn up."

"No, no," says Wiress. "Day."

Apologetically, Annie looks at me. "What does she mean, Beetee?"

"She wants to know if you two are having a good day," I say, slipping a comforting arm around Wiress. "Right, dear?" I ask.

Happily, Wiress nods.

"I'm fine, Wiress," says Annie with a smile. "Thank you for asking."

"Welcome," says Wiress.

"I'm doing wonderful, Wiress," Delly adds. "Today is such a nice day!"

"Gee, what a surprise," I mouth to Wiress when Delly isn't looking. Wiress giggles.

Lunch is pleasant; the four of us converse easily until I decide that Wiress and I best be going. As she makes to begin skipping off in the direction of Special Defense, I take her hand and pull her aside. "Wiress, dear," I murmur, "I'd be more than happy to show you around Special Defense one day, but…could you not, um…run around so much, ask so many questions? It makes it difficult for us to work."

"Why?" she asks.

"It's as I said. We can't do our jobs when you distract us," I explain.

Her eyes fill with tears, and to my surprise, she pulls away from me. "Embarrassed," she whispers.

I look around. "No one's listening, Wiress. How have I embarrassed you?"

"Not me. You." Wiress narrows her eyes. "Embarrassed by me. I question…ask questions. And explore. Curious. Too curious, like a child." Wiress glowers, folding her arms. "It embarrasses you. In front of your friends."

My first instinct is to praise her for the complexity of her thought. After a pause, however, I realize what she's saying.

"Oh, Wiress," I say, reaching for her again, "I don't feel that way at all…"

Again, she pulls away—not instinctively, but purposely. "Not a child, Beetee," Wiress continues. She rubs her temples, gathering her thoughts. "I am a woman. A grown-up. Delicate. Not helpless. Delicate woman, not helpless child. Not for you to…to shelter, to baby, to care for. To love as an equal." Wiress steps forward and takes my face in her hands. "You…grown man. Me, too. But a woman. Who loves you. And wants to be loved by you. But as a woman. A lover." Shyly, she blushes and looks away. "With kissing and cuddling and, and…maybe even…l-l-lovemaking. One day, Beetee. I'll try. But even though we can't…now…"

I interrupt her by stepping into the space between us, cupping her chin, and kissing her on the lips.

Her small fingers curl under my shirt collar, her skin and breath warm as she responds hesitantly to my kiss. I gently slide my hands from her face to her waist, and after another moment, she pulls away, resting her forehead against mine with a breathless, blushing smile on her face. "Are you alright?" I whisper.

"Am now," she whispers back. She looks at me with a devilish glint in her eye. "Kiss me like that...more often. Please."

I laugh aloud and slip an arm around her waist, pausing to assure her comfort. "Of course, dear."

As we make our way back to Special Defense, Wiress asks, "Should I sorry...no, apologize to your friends? In Special Defense? I..."

"Distracted them?" Guiltily, I confess, "That isn't why I asked you to tone it down some, Wiress. You see...some of the other members of the team...they said some rude things about you when you left. It made me angry...I wanted to prove that you weren't...that we weren't..."

"What?" asks Wiress.

"They said that you had the mindset of a five-year-old," I admit. "And that I was...using you."

I expect her to cry at the least or have an anxiety attack due to memories of her torture at the most, but to my surprise, Wiress simply grins and tugs at my earlobe. "Prove them wrong, then," she whispers.

Smiling, I say, "Of course. Why didn't I think of that?"

That's exactly what I do when we reenter the room. Our talk slowed us down, and we're the last to arrive, but the extra attention is all the better. Wiress stays at my side, her arm wrapped around mine, her head on my shoulder. Before we leave for dinner, she skips over the blackboard, picks up a piece of chalk, and scribbles a long, complex equation across the top. She solves it in no time at all, and underneath, she writes in large letters, _How unintelligent am I now? _She signs her name, adds a smiley face for good measure, and offers her arm when I approach her, laughing. I pause to kiss her before taking it, and, leaving the rest of my team in a state of complete shock, we leave the room for dinner. I almost give them the finger on the way out, but somehow, I manage to suppress the impulse.

* * *

**And that is why you never insult Wiress. :) Chapter 21 will be posted ASAP!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	21. Chapter 21

**Thank you, **_SassyRedhead _**and **_Savysnape7_** for reviewing! And speaking of which (well, not really :P), lots of Plutarch and Katniss's camera crew—Cressida, Messalla, Castor, and Pollux—in this chapter! Tell me whether or not their OOC! :) **

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

* * *

As the days continue passing by, I realize that, for the most part, they're quite enjoyable. Wiress spends most of her time with me; after the performance the other day, the Airtime Assault team has left her alone. We eat with Annie, Delly, Finnick, Johanna, Katniss, and Gale if the latter four aren't in training. At night, we still sleep in separate beds, but Wiress always crawls into mine before she retires to kiss me goodnight. Often, one goodnight kiss turns to several, and over time, these several become overwhelmingly passionate. This exchange of kisses ceases when Wiress becomes uncomfortable, and after, she shyly whispers, "Goodnight" in my ear before slipping back into her own bed. When morning comes, she explains that she isn't trying to tease me but is only trying to expand her comfort zone. I understand completely and insist that she never push herself too far.

"One day," she assures me softly in my ear while moving to return to her own bed after tonight's kisses have been exchanged, "we'll...we'll push the beds together." Realizing this is simply her colloquialism for making love again, I nod and whisper, "Goodnight" before pulling the blankets around myself and falling asleep.

The next morning, while we meander our way through Special Defense after breakfast, Plutarch approaches us and smiles at our entwined hands. "If you two don't mind," he says, "I'd like to have a word."

Confused, Wiress and I follow him into an empty workroom and sit down. "What is it, Plutarch?" I ask.

"Our latest propos feature our soldiers—and especially the victors—preparing for the Capitol invasion," says Plutarch. "Johanna Mason, Finnick Odair, Katniss Everdeen, even Peeta Mellark—though I assure you the latter is only for the cameras," he adds upon seeing our shocked expressions. "But lately, it has come to my attention that our viewers have seen none of Wiress since her rescue."

She blinks. "With all due respect toward her," I say, "Wiress is in no shape or form capable of becoming a soldier. Even if you made it only for show, no one would believe it." Wiress nods in assent.

"I know," says Plutarch. "That isn't what I had in mind. We also have Annie Cresta being married, but as I said, we've had nothing about Wiress. So, I do want to film a propo focused around her. And you as well, Beetee."

"A propo about us?" I repeat.

"Yes," says Plutarch. "It would be with your permission, of course. I understand that you two may be the least popular of our victors—"

"Gee, thank you so much," I interrupt before Wiress takes offense and begins to cry. As I predicted, she instead giggles at my remark.

"Anyway," Plutarch continues, narrowing his eyes, "I had the idea of filming a propo centered around the two of you, and especially your romance. Essentially, it would be an interview. Cressida, our director, would ask you both questions about how you two met, how you fell in love, life together before the Quell—Beetee, we would ask how you fared when Wiress was captured, and Wiress, we would ask for a summary of what you endured in the Capitol—"

"You are _not _going to make her talk about that on television," I retort.

"—and we would conclude by discussing how close you two still are, to show the rebels that even those enduring such suffering can and will have a happy ending," Plutarch says as if I hadn't spoken.

"The idea sounds good on paper," I say, slipping a comforting arm around Wiress, who has begun to tremble shallowly, "but honestly, I don't see anyone being too interested. We're...we're Nuts and Volts, for crying out loud. No one would take us seriously if we played the star-crossed lovers angle, Plutarch."

"But that's the thing. It _isn't _an angle. You two have a genuine bond that no one can deny," says Plutarch.

"I'm fifty-five," I continue. "No one would want to see me kiss Wiress for a propo."

"Normally, the age would be concerning, but with you two, it only adds to the effectiveness," Plutarch replies. "Besides—and I don't know if you two have notice—you're absolutely adorable together."

"I still don't want Wiress to have to discuss what happened in the Capitol," I insist.

"Wiress," says Plutarch, addressing her for the first time, "what do _you _think about all of this?"

She takes her time in deciding her answer. "Good idea," she says, "but...I..." She turns to me and buries her face in my shirtfront, gulping nervously. Plutarch claps in triumph and gestures to us grandly with his hand. "See?" he says smugly. "In fact, skip Wiress talking about what happened. Just do that and we'll be golden." '

I sigh. "I'm still not entirely comfortable with this idea, Plutarch," I say.

"I'll do it," whispers Wiress from my shirt. I pause in my caressing of her hair, surprised.

"Wiress, honey, you don't have to," I tell her.

"This is brilliant," Plutarch murmurs to himself. "Oh, I can just imagine it..."

"Wiress," I continue, ignoring him, "only do what makes you comfortable. You aren't obligated to agree to do this—"

"I want to," she reiterates, looking up at me with tears streaking her face. "To help. Haven't yet...this could help, right, Plutarch?"

"Indeed," he says quickly, beaming.

"Then I'll do it," she says.

I cup her face, wipe the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs, and murmur, "If you say so." Softly, forgetting Plutarch is sitting right there, I lean in and press my lips to hers.

"I can _hear _the love-struck sighs of our viewers!" cries Plutarch, interrupting our kiss. "Oh, this will be _perfect_. You won't regret this, I swear!" Delighted, he scurries off, leaving me with a blushing Wiress in my arms.

"Are you sure you're alright with this?" I ask, touching her cheek.

She nods, leaning her face into my palm. "Not some secret," she says. Slyly, she leans forward and whispers, "Let them see."

We kiss again, and for a brief, delicious moment, the woes of today seem far, far away.

* * *

Plutarch certainly is on top of things; when Wiress and I wake the next morning and receive our schedules, we discover that we're to report to Studio C in Special Defense immediately after breakfast. We're nervous but excited; as we sit with Finnick, Annie, Delly, and Johanna eating our dry toast and pitifully unsalted scrambled eggs, I mention to propo we're doing, and Johanna begins snorting into her breakfast.

"What, do all the viewers get free barf bags?" she snickers. Suddenly, she winces and shoots a glance at Finnick, so I assume he kicked her from under the table.

"That sounds really sweet," says Finnick.

"Ooh, a Beeress propo!" squeals Delly, dropping her spoon to clap happily. "I can't wait to see it!"

"What the hell is Beeress? An infectious disease?" asks Johanna.

"It's Wiress and Beetee's couple name!" Delly chirps. "Isn't it cute?"

"About as cute as the inside of my—"

"Are you done with those eggs, Annie? I don't have to be on the shooting range until eight and I'd love to get in a morning walk," Finnick interrupts. Smiling, his wife nods and hands him her tray; Finnick stands, drapes an arm around her shoulders, and bids us farewell as they depart.

"Well," says Johanna, also standing, "I'm not staying with a group of stinking losers. Bye." She takes her tray and marches off.

To avoid having another awkward conversation with Delly, I explain that we should leave to film the propo and take Wiress with me; though we've left her sitting all by herself, Delly seems quite content as she happily continues eating her breakfast. Holding hands, Wiress and I enter Special Defense and find Plutarch waiting for us. "Ah! Come with me," he says cheerfully, waving us forward.

We follow Plutarch into what must be Studio C and find ourselves faced with a small stage topped with two chairs. Plutarch looks around and says, "Cressida! Come here; I have your interviewees."

Wiress leans toward me. "Is that…?"

"A word?" I finish in a whisper. Wiress nods. '"I doubt it."

A woman with a shaved head tattooed with green vines approaches, smiling. "Hello, hello," she says briskly, shaking each of our hands. "Very nice to meet you, Wiress and…Beetee?"

"Yes," I say, shaking her hand. "Hello. Are you the director?"

"I am," says Cressida. She beckons us forward and we soon come upon a slimly built young man, his dark face decorated with multiple rings and gauges. Fulvia Cardew chats with him, but the man, who must be Messalla, seems to be anything but a willing participant. He beams upon seeing us, undoubtedly grateful for the distraction, and says, "Cressida, Beetee, hello. And you must be Wiress." He holds out his hand, but Wiress seems more enthralled by his face; I take her other hand in mine to quell her desire to touch it.

Soon, two large cameramen approach. "Castor, Pollux," says Messalla, "this is Wiress and Beetee. Wiress, Beetee, that's Castor and his brother, Pollux."

"Hello," says Castor. Pollux simply waves. I don't notice it at first, but Wiress does. She pulls away from me and goes to Pollux, reaching out, and it hits me. Pollux is an Avox, a former prisoner of the Capitol with his tongue removed. I try to restrain Wiress, but Pollux allows her to touch his cheeks, his lips, his throat. Castor watches apprehensively, prepared to spring into action the second he feels his brother is threatened. Hopefully, the massive Castor sees that Wiress, weighing perhaps a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet and standing at five-foot-three on her tiptoes, is no threat and is simply curious. Pollux freezes, unused to her touches, but she is very gentle. After a moment, she says, "People talk. For me, too. Can't on my own…sometimes. Like you." She touches his cheek, smiling. "Not alone."

Castor puts a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Pollux would like to thank you, Wiress," he says after a moment.

"Welcome," murmurs Wiress, drifting back to my side. I wrap my arms around her and nuzzle her ear, whispering, "You never cease to surprise me, little mouse." She giggles.

"Alright, let's save the adorability for the cameras!" crows Fulvia. Messalla grimaces and mutters something about needing the restroom before scurrying off. Plutarch chuckles. "Now, Plutarch," says Fulvia, "do we need to take these two to the Remake Center? You know, for a touch-up?" Am I mistaken or is she looking solely at me?

"No, no," says Plutarch.

"Are you sure?" asks Fulvia, seeming deflated.

"Yes," says Plutarch. "We want them to appear as they do every day."

"Fine," she grumbles.

"Now, Cressida has prepared a few questions," Plutarch tells us, leading us over to the stage, "and wants to review them with you to make sure you'll be comfortable. Just answer them honestly and be sure to be adorable—don't lay it on too thickly, but simply do whatever comes naturally." He leaves and Cressida soon replaces him, a clipboard in hand.

"Are these alright?" she asks, showing me her clipboard. Wiress and I peer at the questions—nothing seems to be potentially unsettling. The questions are simple, things like _How did you meet? _and _When did you know you were in love?_ Nothing too complicated.

"We can handle these," I say, looking at Wiress. I slip an arm around her. "Can you?"

She nods happily, twining her fingers with mine. "I figured they'd use Finnick and Annie Odair for this," says Cressida as she gets us situated onstage, "but Plutarch is right. You two are just as cute. Besides, your relationship is at least fifteen years older, and that adds to the Anyone-Can-Have-a-Happy-Ending theme we're going for." Messalla, upon deciding that Fulvia will not bother him, reappears and says, "Alright, let's get this show on the road!"

Castor and Pollux, having donned their enormous cameras, take their places. The lights shine down on my lover and I. Cressida stands beside Castor where we can both see her, flanked by Messalla, and says, "Action!"

* * *

**This was originally one whole chapter, but it was **_**way **_**too long, so I split it in half like I did Chapter 10 of **_**Breaking Point**_**. Chapter 22 will be up momentarily—by the time you reach this A/N, it ought to be posted! Squee! Also, you may notice that I describe Messalla as having dark skin—in my head-canon, I've always imagined Messalla as being either Native American or black…unlike Beetee, but that's a ramble you can read on my forum. The link is on my profile—after you review, be sure to check it out! :) Also, I've developed a running gag of people thinking Beeress is an infectious disease. :)**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	22. Chapter 22

And the interview begins. As predicted, I do most of the talking, as Wiress is perpetually shy, but she interjects her opinion every now and then and is sure to stay latched on my arm for comfort. I take Plutarch's advice and simply answer questions as if I was having a normal conversation with one of them; I focus on Messalla and pretend that he's Finnick, though the two look nothing alike. I discuss how I met Wiress during the Games, how I mentored her, and how my feelings changed over the years. I didn't love her at first—when we first met, she was sixteen and I was thirty-two. That being said, nineteen and thirty-five didn't sound much better, but I explain that Wiress was older in mind than in body. I describe in detail the day I realized I loved her—she and one of her two sisters were designing a dress as a birthday present for the other, and Wiress, being the closest in stature the sister in question, was the model. I can picture the dress in my mind as I think about it—royal blue chiffon, sleeveless, with a scoop neck that dipped an inch below Wiress's collarbone and a ruffled skirt that reached her knees. As I watched, I took in a few other details that were distinctly Wiress—the creamy paleness of her skin, the cascade of dark curls floating around her, those big brown eyes—and realized that she was much more than a pretty girl. She was a beautiful, magnificent woman. As soon as I reached this conclusion, I came to another: I was irrevocably in love with her.

A week later, during the birthday party, Wiress brought me to her attic to collect the gifts. Suddenly, she put down the boxes piled in her arms and said with her eyes downcast, "Another present...for you."

"You didn't have to get me anything," I said.

Wiress crept toward me, a shy smile on her face. "Close your eyes," she whispered.

Heart pounding, I obeyed, and after a moment, small fingers curled around my wrists and soft, warm lips pressed against my own. When Wiress broke off her kiss, she brought her lips to my ear and whispered, "If you want...that can stay up here."

When I opened my eyes, Wiress and the presents were gone.

We avoided each other at the party after that, but as soon as one of the guests expressed the need for more plastic cups, Wiress and I immediately volunteered to retrieve them and hurried back to the attic. She seemed a bit embarrassed by what happened, so I, being a man of few words, simply grabbed her and gave her another kiss, a long, deep kiss that left us panting and writhing in unspent passion. Breathlessly, I whispered, "I love you, Wiress."

"I love you, too," she breathed. "Kiss me. Again. Please."

I did. We held each other, whispering love words between kisses that came slower and lasted longer, but when I had her braced against the wall with my hands creeping up her skirt, I realized that we best not get ahead of ourselves lest our absence be noticed and someone walk in. Grudgingly, we pulled apart, straightened each other's clothing, and devised a plan. When we returned to the party, we brought only half of the cups and explained that we would look for more; however, Wiress's attic was quite messy, we said, so it may take some time. We received permission without question, rushed up to the attic once more, and made love on one of the spare mattresses lying about, smothering each other's cries with kisses to quell the suspicions of guests and rolling passionately on the floor. By the time we were finished, we lay on the opposite side of the room, our bodies slick with sweat and coated with grime from the attic floor. Stealthily, we slipped into the bathroom, wiped ourselves clean, retrieved those plastic cups, and returned to the birthday party once more.

Again, we acted as if nothing had happened—in fact, we didn't discuss it for another week. On a whim, I purchased a dozen lilac tulips and went next door, creeping behind where Wiress stood doing the dishes at her sink and slipping them into her unsuspecting arms. "Flowers? For me?"

"Of course," I said. I looked around. "I...I meant what I said, you know."

"Really?" Wiress spoke to her flowers.

"Yes," I said, reaching to cup her cheek. "I love you."

She hesitated. "Too old," she whispered. "Too old for me."

I felt my heart break, but Wiress repaired it instantaneously with her smile. "Don't care," she murmured, stepping into the space between us. "I...love you, too."

Miraculously, we actually made it to the sofa before making love again. We moved slowly this time, savoring each other's touch, keeping eye contact the entire time, touching and whimpering instead of rolling around and stifling screams. When we finally finished, I tucked a tulip into her hair before pulling a blanket over us both, cocooning us in warmth and love. The next morning, I discovered Wiress awake and dressed and making breakfast for us both. "Over easy or scrambled?" she asked cheerfully as I joined her. And that is when I knew that what Wiress and I had very well could last for the rest of our lives.

When I relay all of this to Cressida, however, I leave out our first time making love in the attic and slip around our second time on the sofa to avoid disgusting the audience. I've just finished telling about the next morning and how the simple question of how I wanted my eggs solidified our relationship when Cressida says, "Cut."

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"I don't know," she sighs. "The story is fantastic, and you two are just adorable together, it's just...ugh, I don't know how to put it..."

"Boring," chimes in Messalla. "It's sweet, but it's not going to hold anyone's interest for long. You two are talking too much."

"It's an _interview_," I say. "What are we supposed do?"

"Well," says Messalla, "why don't you kiss for us?"

I stare. "I beg your pardon?"

"Let's see a kiss," Messalla repeats, as if I'm simply hard of hearing. "We can work from there."

"We can pretend not to look if you'd like," adds Cressida helpfully.

"Alright, then," I say, still a bit perplexed. I turn to Wiress, put a finger under her chin, and move in to kiss her, but to my surprise, Wiress looks away and my lips touch her ear instead of her mouth. "Wiress, what's wrong?" I ask, but Wiress has already slid out of her seat.

"Air," she chokes out, and without another word, she scampers out of the studio. Alarmed, I follow her.

"Wiress!"

I catch up to her right by the elevator, and to my surprise, she begins to weep. "Wiress, sweetheart, what's wrong? What's wrong?" I croon, wrapping her in a hug. She continues to sob against my chest.

"I—I—I'm s-scared," she whispers.

"Of what, darling, of what?"

"_Them_," she gets out.

Oh. Of course. Her torturers in the Capitol—she's afraid they'll see her kissing me on television. Why that would scare her, however, is unbeknownst to me. "Wiress, why would the idea of them seeing us kissing scare you?" I murmur.

"Whore," she whispers. "Called me a whore. They're wrong, aren't they?" She looks up with tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Of course they are, Wiress," I assure her, cupping her face and wiping her tears. "Of course they are. If anything, you should be happy that they'll see this—they'll know they didn't break you, and even if it makes them angry, you'll be too far away for them to hurt you."

She nods and presses a somewhat messy kiss on my mouth. Chuckling, I press my lips to her forehead and murmur, "Since we botched the interview, would you like to see something?"

Still sniffing, Wiress nods. I slip an arm around her waist and lead her to the place I've wanted to take her for so long now—to the replicated meadow. I cover her eyes before we enter and smile as she giggles. "No peeking," I say.

"Okay," she says, still giggling.

I bring her into the meadow and ask her to open her eyes. She gasps involuntarily.

"Oh, wow," she whispers.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" I smile at her. "Nothing compared to you, of course, but a wonder to behold nonetheless." Suddenly, an idea comes to me and I say, "Wait here."

Wiress obeys as I run off to collect the serum one of the scientists who works daily in here is creating. It's essentially manmade nectar, only more potent. I return to Wiress and clasp her hand. "Do you trust me?" I ask.

"Mm-hm," she answers, smiling.

I squeeze a few drops of the serum onto her palm and hold it out, pocketing the bottle. Immediately, a hummingbird the color of the sky outside District 3 flits over and lands right on Wiress's palm, sipping the nectar out of her hand. Again, she gasps. "Oh, wow," she whispers again.

Wrapping my arms around her waist from behind and resting my chin on her shoulder, I say, "Isn't it lovely?"

She looks back at me with tears in her eyes, but she's still smiling from ear to ear. "I almost forgot," she whispers, "what beauty was. But you...you showed me. You are...so beautiful to me."

When she turns, the bird flies away in fear. Wiress wipes her hand on her pants, wraps her arms around my neck, and presses her lips against mine.

Happily, I reciprocate her kisses, though I'm careful not to overwhelm her. After a few minutes of this, however, I'm startled to hear a voice cry, "Cut!" in delight.

Wiress clings to me, seeming just as alarmed, and Plutarch comes striding into the room, clapping. "How _do _you two come up with this stuff?" he asks. "That was brilliant!"

"Were you—?" I'm hardly able to speak. "Were you _filming _that?"

"You'd be surprise how stealthy our wonderful cameramen are," says Plutarch. Castor and Pollux guiltily emerge from two opposite ends of the meadow. I curse myself for forgetting that there is more than one entrance. "Oh, this will be fantastic!" Plutarch says happily.

My shock gives way to anger. "You had no right to film any of that!" I fume. "That was private!"

"Beetee, be reasonable," Plutarch continues, still smiling blithely. "We have enough footage to construct the propo. Our audiences will_ love _this. What's the problem?"

"The problem is that you invaded our personal space!" I retort. "You had no right to film any of this! And if you make a propo out of this, I refuse to air it!"

Plutarch seems taken aback. "Beetee," he says, "use your head. This will—"

"Not benefit anyone but you,"I interrupt. "I understand your intentions, but you've crossed the line. I'm sorry. You'd best erase that footage _and _the interview, because Wiress and I aren't doing either now. You've betrayed our trust."

"Wiress," says Plutarch, "please tell me he's bluffing."

"Beetee...doesn't bluff," says Wiress. "Tells the truth. Doesn't hide cameras places." She narrows her eyes and clings to me.

"But—"

"If they don't want the footage used, Plutarch," Castor interjects, "we can't use it. It wouldn't be fair. Right, Pollux?"

Pollux nods and signs something to his brother. "It's immoral," Castor translates. "And just plain rude."

Finally, Plutarch recognizes defeat. "Well," he says, a significant trace of coolness leaked into his voice, "I suppose I will see you two around." Seeming dejected that we ruined his propo—though he ruined it himself the second he sent Castor and Pollux sneaking after us—he slinks away. The cameramen soon follow, and only after we're sure they're gone does Wiress speak. "Right thing, Beetee?" she murmurs, touching my arm.

"Of course, love," I assure her, smiling. But the answer that really springs to mind is,_ I sure hope so._

* * *

**Review and give me your opinion on this chapter, please! And by the way, here's a fun fact: my favorite HG crackship is Beetick. That's Beetee/Finnick. :)**

**BEETEE: That is absolutely ridiculous! Finnick and I aren't remotely homosexual!**

**FINNICK: What he said! [to Beetee] By the way, gorgeous, I blew in your tea so it wouldn't be too hot for you.**

**BEETEE: [to Finnick] Thank you, honey. [to readers] Anyway, as I was saying, we are in no way homosexual.**

**FINNICK: [to readers] Totally not.**

**;) Anyone actually believe that? But in all seriousness, I do enjoy Beetick as strictly a bromantic friendship and would love to see more fics of that nature—but Beetick as a couple amuses me to no end! **

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	23. Chapter 23

**Thank you to **_Savysnape7 _**for reviewing the last two chapters! Also, thanks to **_catpats31 _**and **_explodinghead _**for saving my lazy ass by explaining that I had to remove the lyrics to the **_**song **_**"Broken" from my **_**story**_**, **_**Broken**_**, a songfic **_**using **_**the song "Broken." Anyone confused yet? Anyway, the lyrics have been removed, so go check out the song **_**and **_**the story!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy **

* * *

A sharp gasp cuts me out of my reverie, and anxiously, I remove my lips from their resting place, the hollow of Wiress's throat, and say, "I'm sorry."

"Okay," she whispers, smiling. Her fingers gently touch the spot I kissed. "Not that it's not...good. Just...clock...time. Need time."

"I understand, dear," I tell her warmly. "Take all the time you need. I'm sorry for rushing."

"It's okay."

"I just have...a lot on my mind right now," I explain quietly as Wiress climbs into her own bed. She peers at me in confusion, but her eyes then soften.

"Finnick and Gale," she interprets.

"Yes," I admit. "They're...they're probably my closest friends in the entire world, Wiress, love. The thought of them both in battle, where anything can happen...it's scary."

"I know, dear," Wiress soothes, reaching her hand out. If I stretch, the space between the beds is small enough to just touch her fingers with mine. "They'll be okay...know what they're doing out there. Prepared. So root for them."

"You're right. They're as prepared as possible. They each have a nightlock pill—poison—in the event of capture. I taught Gale how to detonate his explosive arrows manually in the case his pill is inaccessible. He and Finnick know everything they need to. You're right. They'll probably be fine." I sigh. "It's just..."

To my surprise, Wiress crawls out of bed and slips under the covers with me, twining her arms around my chest and cradling my head to her shoulder. "Sleep," she whispers, kissing the top of my head. "Sleep. Let me...hold you, for a little while. Sleep."

My anxieties are not ones easily quelled, but despite my intention to merely feign sleep to appease Wiress, my eyelids soon grow heavy, especially as she begins to softly sing. Her will soon reigns victorious over mine, and clouds of sleep take over.

* * *

I see both Finnick and Gale the next morning. Both assure me that this isn't goodbye, that we _will _see each other again. Neither allows tears to betray his masculinity. I, however, am not that strong, though I do manage to hold them back until Wiress and I are alone in Compartment 2393. I'm scheduled to work in Special Defense from eight o'clock to eight o'clock, but Wiress insists that I stay with her in our compartment until I'm emotionally sound once more. This actually takes quite some time, but by lunchtime, I'm stable enough to go with Wiress to the dining hall and sit with her, Annie, Delly, and—to my surprise—Johanna, who seems more aggravated than usual. Her wide brown eyes keep flitting around nervously, and her hands will not stop shaking. Wiress asks the question on both of our minds. "What are you…?"

My head in my hands, my elbows on the table, I speak to the bowl of stew I'm not going to eat. "Doing here, Johanna?"

She simply gets up and leaves.

"She failed her entrance exam," whispers Delly. "During her private session, they soaked her in a flood, and she had a flashback from being tortured in the Capitol. They had to sedate her. She's still staying in the hospital, but they make her come here for meals."

The barest traces of sympathy claw at me, but they soon subside.

Wiress comes with me to Special Defense after lunch, but it becomes apparent that I'm too distracted to work efficiently. I'm soon instructed to return home and sleep. I find myself in Dr. Aurelius's office, and, though this is normally his break, he invites me to come in and talk. Wiress lingers by me, her arms around my shoulders, and I quietly explain my troubles to my psychiatrist. At first, I worry that he'll blindly tell me that Finnick and Gale will be fine, that I'm worrying over nothing, but as usual, he doesn't say anything of the sort. "They understand the risks, Beetee," he says, "and it's good that you've accepted them as well. Having friends in combat is never easy, but the best thing to do would be to resume your normal routine and work from there. With any luck, the Capitol will be won within the month and bring with it your friends, hopefully uninjured. It doesn't sound like much, but hope can do a lot, Beetee."

With this in mind, I thank him and leave.

And as he often is, Dr. Aurelius is right: life _does _go on. I find ways to keep busy—working in Special Defense, speaking with Dr. Aurelius, simply spending time with Wiress. Days soon blur together, and by the time Plutarch comes to see Wiress and I in one of the workrooms, I feel rather content with my situation.

What Plutarch says changes that.

"Hello, Beetee, Wiress," he greets, seeming uncomfortable. We haven't spoken since the failed propo; I wait for his apology, but what he says eradicates all feelings of annoyance. "I have…news."

Wiress anxiously squeezes my arm. "Good?"

"No," says Plutarch softly. "Bad."

"What?" I choke out.

He sighs. "There…there was an accident," he says. "Commander Boggs set of a landmine, triggered explosions, a flood of tar…our Star Squad, Squad Four-Five-One…consisting of Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, Gale Hawthorne, and Finnick Odair…"

"What happened?" I demand, but I already know. Isn't it obvious? I start to shake; tears pool in my eyes, waiting for the damning word to spill over.

"They…they died," Plutarch reveals. "It was caught on tape and aired on Capitol TV. There were…no survivors. The Star Squad, the camera crew…all dead."

A horrible, racking sob tears out of my throat. Wiress envelopes me in her warm embrace, my face pressed against her blouse, and I begin to weep. Spunky Katniss. Kind Peeta. Daring Gale. Cressida, Messalla, Castor, Pollux. And Finnick…Finnick, who quickly became my best friend, Finnick, who was there for me when no one else was, Finnick, Finnick, _Finnick_…dead. All of them, dead. Gone. Gone forever.

I don't remember what happens next. The next clear memory I have is of lying in bed in Compartment 2393, crying silently into my pillow. A slamming door does little to bring me out of my despair, but I become semi-lucid when Wiress wraps her arms around me. "W-what was that?" I ask. I sound pathetic, but I'm too miserable to care. Wiress, as always, is nothing but nurturing and sympathetic when faced with my tears; she lavishes kisses over my face, murmuring, "Don't worry about it…just Plutarch, wanting you to…to air Katniss's eulogy."

My heart sinks. "I…"

"I know you can't," she assures me. Her eyes glaze over; gently, I tap her chin, and she refocuses. "I slammed the door."

"I heard."

"In his face," she adds.

I give a watery chuckle. "Really?"

"Mm-hm." Wiress removes my glasses and gently places a kiss over each of my eyelids. "Now sleep, love," she whispers.

I'm too exhausted to disobey.

* * *

I sleep dreamlessly for an indefinite amount of time. When Wiress wakes me, she whispers, "Bath time."

My limbs are too languid to move, so Wiress ends up dragging me out of bed and to the bathroom. With trembling fingers, she peels off my clothing, but I stop her from removing my undergarments to assure her comfort, as I doubt she trusts me to bathe efficiently on my own and is therefore not going to leave.

Wiress fills up the bathtub, and, with her help, I lower myself into it. She then begins washing my hair. I could easily do this myself, but there's something sweet and intimate about Wiress doing it for me. She takes her time, her small fingers gently massaging every visible inch of my skin. After almost an hour, Wiress drains the tub, gives me a towel, and leaves to that I can dry off. I do so quickly, tossing my underclothes into the sink in a soaking heap, and wrap my towel securely around my hips. Something suddenly catches my attention—the sound of moving furniture.

Moving furniture?

My hands trembling, I exit the bathroom and find Wiress arranging the comforters over the two beds, now pushed together. _Pushed together. _My heart starts pounding as Wiress approaches, smiling shyly. "Hi," she says.

"I take it this wasn't a casual need for a change of scenery," I rasp, my voice rough.

"No," whispers Wiress, clasping the hand not clutching my towel. "I…I know this may be a…a bad time…"

My first response is _yes_, that this is a _very_ bad time—my two closest friends are dead! How can I even _consider _something such as sex? But as Wiress's small fingers creep up my arm and over my chest, as tremors of desire make me shiver, as I let my eyes sweep from her face, glowing angelically in the low light, to her petite, delicate frame, clad only in loose trousers and a camisole, my mindset changes. Making love now is not an act of disrespect toward the dead, but an act of rebellion toward not only death itself but the Capitol. They killed my friends. They raped Wiress. In different ways, the Capitol tried to tear each of us away from the other. Now is the chance to prove that their ploys were futile—that _nothing _can tear us apart.

Wiress must see the desire in my eyes because she gently pulls me over to the bed with her. I slip the straps of her camisole and bra off her shoulder to kiss her warm, white skin. She freezes, then relaxes, closing her eyes. "I…"

"I love you, too, Wiress."

"No." She cups my face and raises it to her eye-level. "I _trust _you," she whispers. "And…want you. And yes, love you, too." Her eyes sparkle with love, with…desire. Of course she seems a bit nervous, a bit uneasy, but I promise to be gentle and loving. Wiress will not regret this. She leans forward and murmurs, "K-kiss me, Beetee. Love me. Please."

"Of course." We lie down, wrapped in each other's arms, and press our warm lips together—simultaneously hard and soft, gentle and eager, two beings become one. The way they were meant to be.

* * *

**How is this going to end? Well? Horribly? Will our lovers get their long-awaited happily-ever-after? Stay tuned!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	24. Chapter 24

**Thank you for the reviews, **_Savysnape7 _**and **_Adorable Goth Chick_**! Sorry for the delay—I'm working on a new fic as well. Go to my profile and check out the trailer to **_**Uncertainty**_**! :) This chapter is a bit on the short side, but next one—the last one, I might add—will be long and chock full of closure. Then we have the epilogue, and then you can start following **_**Uncertainty**_**. I won't tell you what it's about, though—you have to go check out the trailer for that! **

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

* * *

As always, the lights activate automatically at six-thirty, illuminating the small, wiry-haired woman in my arms. Wiress sleeps soundly, her eyelashes trembling as she breathes; her face is buried in my chest, so I can't read her expression. I lean down and kiss the damp curls blanketing her forehead, and, just like the princess in that ancient fairytale, Wiress comes awake and peers at my face. I can pinpoint precisely when she remembers what happened, as her cheeks begin to burn a brilliant red; nervously, I touch her face and whisper, "Are you alright?"

A soft giggle bursts through her lips. "Wonderful," she whispers back.

Relieved, I laugh. "Really?"

"Yes," she reiterates. Still blushing, she looks away. "Was wonderful," murmurs Wiress, smiling. "Last night. _Wonderful_."

Truthfully, our lovemaking was nothing extraordinary—it was over rather quickly, in fact—but the sheer delight of being together again felt far better than any sexual pleasure. Because my flesh is still hypersensitive, I shiver when Wiress's small fingers begin to touch my chest. "You?"

"Am I alright?" I chuckle and affectionately nuzzle her ear. "Of course, my little mouse. Just a bit achy. I'm not used to activities so momentous as those of last night."

Wiress blushes redder and giggles again, leaning forward to kiss my chest, right over where the ache is. It isn't anything debilitating—just a dull throbbing in the left side of my chest and shoulder. I probably put too much weight on it; I would have been beyond noticing such a thing last night. As we continue to cuddle, exchanging the occasional kiss, my communicuff begins to beep. I sleepily give Wiress another kiss before sauntering to the dresser to retrieve the device. Donning my glasses, I peer at its message:

_REPORT TO SPECIAL DEFENSE IMMEDIATELY_

"Wiress, love?" I say, turning to her, and to my surprise, I find her sitting up and staring at me with hungry eyes. "What makes you look at me like that?" I ask with a laugh.

"Come here," she almost orders, grinning.

I rejoin her on the bed and she swiftly manipulates our bodies so that she's sitting on top, straddling my legs. Instantly, my attention is redirected to her and our lack of clothing; my heart pounding, I emit a soft groan as Wiress presses her lips to my throat.

"Mm," she murmurs. "Love, love, love."

"_Wiress_." I close my eyes, letting the sensations run through me, and jump a little when I feel her teeth press against the skin of my neck. "Wiress," I say again, "do try not to, um, leave marks…"

"In case someone sees?" She doesn't seem disgruntled; instead, she simply slides down lower until her lips are brushing against my sternum. "Here, then? No one sees here."

Again, my heart speeds up at the sheer mention of what she's suggesting, but with the accelerated heartbeat comes a dull stab of pain in the center of my chest. Wiress must see me wince because she leans back and asks with wide eyes, "Okay?"

"Fine," I grunt, sitting up. "We need to go, anyway." I show her my communicuff. "Care to join me?"

She nods, and after we dress, the two of us disembark. As soon as we enter Special Defense, we come upon Plutarch, who rushes up to his and ushers us into yet another empty workroom.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Nothing," he gasps. "Oh, Beetee, something wonderful has happened!"

Hopefully Plutarch doesn't notice my blush at the term Wiress also used to describe our lovemaking.

"What?" asks Wiress.

"It was a trick! A rouse!" he says happily. "They aren't dead! Well, Commander Boggs is, as is a soldier from Thirteen, but other than them, Squad-Four-Five-One is alive! They survived!"

"Really?" I ask.

"Really!" chirps Plutarch. "Isn't that wonderful?"

"Like Beetee and me," says Wiress. At Plutarch's confusion, she adds, "Making love. Sex."

I look away, as does Plutarch. Wiress, not understanding her social faux pas as per usual, simply turns to me with a smile and presses her warm lips to my flaming cheek. "Love you," she says.

I can't help but smile. No matter her unintentionally embarrassing tongue-in-cheek comments, she's absolutely adorable. I lean in to kiss her, but Plutarch's discomfort makes me settle for slipping an arm around her waist. "So...what do we do now?" I ask.

"Now?" Plutarch repeats. He furrows his brow, seeming uncharacteristically thoughtful. "I suppose we just wait for news and hope our good luck lasts."

* * *

And of course, it doesn't.

We learn later the same day that four soldiers—Jackson, Homes, Leeg 1, and Finnick, as well as Messalla and Castor—have perished. I grieve for them all, especially Finnick. Wiress, sweet Wiress, consoles me to the best of her ability, but there is almost so much that soft words and kisses can do to heal the wound a dead friend left, especially one whose death was believed to be a rouse just hours before.

"Be okay," Wiress soothes as she slips in bed beside me that night. She kisses my cheek and holds me as one would a small child. "Sleep now."

"Alright, Wiress." Remorse does exhaust a person. I curl up beside her, and against all odds, I fall asleep, hoping for a better day come tomorrow.

But I was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. So, so wrong.

No one can blame me for thinking the day would go well—it does start quite ordinarily. Wiress follows me throughout the morning, as usual. Though it's only used for emergencies in 13, the entire Airtime Assault team is given coffee, and Wiress only allows me small sips so that I don't simply inhale it. We show footage of the rebels using abandoned automobiles to set off traps, but as luck would have it, that only works well for so long. But soon, the rebels breach the Capitol, and everyone in Special Defense starts cheering.

But our relief is short-lived, so terribly short-lived.

Both the rebels and the Capitol are airing the battle at the City Circle on live television. Though we can't tell for certain, rumor has it that the living members of Squad 451—Katniss, Gale, Peeta, Cressida, and Pollux—are in disguise and traveling through the swarms of people. What they're planning, no one knows; Coin is furious at this, but she can't show her anger because of the sheer number of people who would immediately flank to the Mockingjay's side. In all honesty, I find that rather amusing. However, amusement is the last thing I feel after what happens next.

President Snow has been hiding in his mansion for weeks now, refusing to come out lest he be shot. As the rebels swarm the perimeter, a large pen is revealed, a pen heavily guarded with Peacekeepers. Perplexed, I look closer, and what I find sends bile bubbling into the back of my throat.

Not a guard of Peacekeepers, but a barricade of Capitol children.

A hovercraft bearing the Capitol insignia appears, and down come dozens of parachutes. The children eagerly scoop them up, but after about five seconds, twenty of those parachutes explode.

I'm deaf to the wailing on the television, to the screaming around me. All I remember is the bomb Gale and I constructed. As a swarm of medics materializes to aid the children, I suddenly know what happens next. I can't look away. I don't know why—I want to. Oh, how I want to. But my mind won't let me.

Too late, I realize that the medics are not from the Capitol. They are _rebel _medics. _Our _medics.

My heart literally, physically hurts, pulsing agony through my bloodstream. I feel weak.

No screams follow when the remainder of the parachutes detonate. Perhaps my peers already knew it would happen. I doubt Wiress did, but she seems to occupied with me at the moment. "Beetee, are you okay?" she asks anxiously.

No, I am not. Something—I don't know what—is wrong. The dull ache in the left side of my chest from the other day has erupted suddenly into something more, something far worse. Not aching so much as pressure. Tons upon tons of pressure. I place a hand over my sternum, my fingers curling into claws, as if I could remove whatever is crushing me from the outside.

My ears are ringing. All I can hear are those explosions. Finally, my mind puts it together.

_Gale and I could have made those bombs_...

_We could have killed those children_..._those rebel medics_...

I hear either Mart or Hepburn order someone to call a doctor. For me? Nothing makes sense anymore. Wiress is at my side, her hands on my shoulders, her soft voice pleading in my ear. I cannot make out proper words. But it isn't me they should worry about—not me, the possible, probable killer of all those children...

"Get off," I manage, shrugging Wiress's hands away. She stares at me, brown eyes wide. I rise with the intent to follow whoever left, to tell them that I'm fine—just heartbroken—when I simply collapse on the floor.

* * *

**I think I made it a bit obvious what happened, but if you don't know, it'll be revealed next chapter. :) Leave a review, please!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


	25. Chapter 25

**I have made an executive decision to delete **_**Labels **_**and **_**Fire & Rain **_**for the time being until I can resume work on them again, but worry not—a new story, **_**Uncertainty**_**, is in the works! A trailer is on my profile, so be sure to check it out! But guess what? This **_**isn't **_**the last chapter! :) I lied! Well, not really. This chapter just got too long and I needed to split it in half. Chapter **_**26 **_**will be the last chapter. Then the epilogue, and then **_**From Under My Feet **_**will be done! Yay!**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**

* * *

Light blinds my eyes the minute I open them. Moaning, I throw an arm over my face to protect it from the assault of the fluorescents, but as soon as I do, a sharp cry penetrates my ears and makes me wince. It's as if someone turned every one of my senses on overdrive; every sound is piercing, the light burns, the sheets chafing against my skin feel like razors, my mouth tastes bitter, the bite of ammonia makes me dizzy. The only thing that doesn't cause pain is the feel of a hand clasping mine for dear life, squeezing tightly; another cry reaches my ears, but this time, the cry is not wordless. It's a name. "Beetee!"

I tentatively remove my arm from my face and am greeted with the sight of Wiress leaning over me, her large eyes sparkling with tears, her lips stretched in a breathless, disbelieving smile. My muscles feel weak, but I manage to whisper, "Hi."

Tears spilling out of her eyes, Wiress buries her face in my chest and inhales my scent. "Hi," she whispers back. She sits up and looks at me, placing her palm on my cheek. "Oh, my love, hi."

As I struggle to sit up—Wiress helps by stuffing pillows behind my back—I realize that my surroundings are unfamiliar. My mind becomes less hypersensitive, so I'm able to actually take in the foreignism. The room is a blinding shade of sterile white; peering at my bedside table reveals a small, dark blur, and, realizing these are my glasses, I fumble for them. Her vision less impaired than mine, Wiress retrieves them for me and fixates them securely on my face. I look down; I'm clad in nothing but a white hospital gown dotted with circles of dark blue. A plastic bracelet on my wrist bears my name, age, and the words _Ward A_. The intensive care ward? Why am I here? Wiress sits next to me on the bed, snuggling almost apprehensively against me—again, why?—and I ask, "Wiress, what's going on?"

Running a hand through her shag of dark hair, Wiress's face contorts in the familiar expression of her trying to collect her thoughts. Patiently, I wait, and finally, she cries, "Attack!"

I wince at the volume and pitch of her voice, but when I realize what she said, I blink in perplexity. "Excuse me?"

Wiress is incapable of explaining further, as she buries her face in my chest once more and begins weeping. Gently, I run my fingers through her hair, trying to console her despite my own confusion. A door opens; I look toward it, and Dr. Aurelius saunters in. "Well, it's good to see you awake again, Beetee," he says cheerfully.

"Awake…again?" I repeat.

Incredulously, Wiress looks up and gasps, "Beetee, you died!"

It takes a moment for this to sink in. I…died? What? "Wiress," I say, trying to make light of her remark, "I'm not that old. I'm sure I would remember something like dying."

"She isn't lying," says Dr. Aurelius, sitting in a chair by my bed.

"Will somebody _please _tell me what's going on?" I demand. Wiress whimpers, and I instinctively hold her closer to take the sting from my words.

"Wiress," Dr. Aurelius says kindly, "do you need a moment, or do you think you can stay?"

"Stay," she mumbles, voice muffled by the front of my pajamas.

"Doctor, what happened?" I ask again.

"Well," says Dr. Aurelius, "what we call it in the medical field is a myocardial infarction."

"And in English...?"

"You had a heart attack," Dr. Aurelius translates.

It takes me a moment to process this. Heart attack? Me? _What? _"I beg your pardon?"

"Ninety-four seconds," Wiress whispers with a shudder.

I hold her closer. "What do you mean, love?" I murmur.

"That's how long your heart stopped beating," Dr. Aurelius says gently.

My head starts pounding in the precise place Enobaria smashed that rock into it. I run a hand through my hair, trying to soothe the ache with my fingers. "So I...I died?"

"Clinically, yes," says Dr. Aurelius.

"Then how am I alive, doctor?"

"Intravenous medication," he says, nodding at the IV sitting by my bed. "And external defibrillation."

"You mean...?"

"Electric shock," says Dr. Aurelius.

I start laughing. Wiress and Dr. Aurelius stare at me as if I've lost my mind—at this point, I may have. "I'm sorry," I finally manage. "I'm just laughing at the irony. You know, Volts would have died without being electrocuted?" The pair continues to stare as I laugh at the rather crude humor, but after a moment, I realize I'm also laughing at the mere fact that I'm _alive_. Not for the first time, I'm alive when I should not be. Wiress smiles weakly and tucks her head beneath my chin; I hold her tighter and ask, "So...what now?"

"Now?" Dr. Aurelius thoughtfully scratches his chin. "We get you up and running again as quickly as is safe. I want to keep you under observation for a few more days to make sure you develop no complications. I also want to get you started on your medication regimen before you're discharged."

"Do I get one of those little plastic things with the days of the week written on each one to sort the pills?" I ask sarcastically.

Not noticing or ignoring my tone, Dr. Aurelius says, "Yes."

"Oh, joy," I mutter. In a louder voice, I ask, "What kind of medication?"

"Aspirin, clopidogrel, metoprolol, isosorbide dinitrate, lisinopril, atorvastatin—"

"That's a long list," I say woefully.

"But medication is important," he says. "I know it may seem unnecessary but each one of those medicines has a different role in keeping you alive."

"Fun," I mutter under my breath. Wiress hears me and gives me another weak smile.

"What else?" asks Wiress. "To keep alive?"

"What else can Beetee do?" Dr. Aurelius says. "There are three other parts in cardiac rehabilitation. exercising, reducing risk factors, and dealing with stress, anxiety, or depression."

"Okay," I say.

"First," says Dr. Aurelius, "excercise."

"What do I do, walk in circles?"

"That could work," Dr. Aurelius answers.

I sigh. District 13 is ill-informed in the subtleties of irony and sarcasm.

"I'm sure Wiress would be happy to help you," he adds. Wiress nods. "Make sure you're only doing what's safe and things like that. After that, you reduce any and all risk factors for a relapse."

"Like what?"

"In your case, this step hardly applies because I believe the reason for your heart attack was almost purely psychological," he says. "The result of some kind of stress."

I remember suddenly the bombs, and bile rises in the back of my throat. "That would definitely apply," I say in a hollow voice. Dr. Aurelius must see that I'm about to bombard him with questions about the war because he says, "Beetee, let's keep this about you and discuss anything else later."

"Alright," I agree grudgingly.

"The last step is treating the psychological effects," says Dr. Aurelius. "I, of course, will help with that." He pauses. "Now...seeing as you and Wiress are, um, romantically involved...there is one other thing we should probably discuss in accordance to your health before I update you on the goings-on of the war."

With an awful sense of foreboding, I ask, "What?"

"You're probably wondering when it will be safe for you to have sex again," he says simply.

Blood rushes to my face. "I wasn't wondering..."

"Beetee, I know you want to know. If you didn't before, you do now that I've mentioned it," says Dr. Aurelius. "Right?"

"Um...if you insist on giving me the information, I may listen..."

"For men who have had an uncomplicated heart attack—such as you—sex is usually safe after six to eight weeks. A physician or myself can examine you prior to any attempts to assure this safety," he explains.

Wiress removes her head from its resting place and asks, "Sex...cause a heart attack?"

"If done too soon, it could cause a relapse, yes," Dr. Aurelius answers, but she shakes her head.

"Before. This one...caused by sex?"

I immediately realize what Wiress is getting at. "We, um...we had sex a few days prior to the heart attack, doctor," I explain. "Wiress wants to know if that could have caused it."

"Oh, no," says Dr. Aurelius. "If it did, it was simply the straw that broke the camel's back, not the cause itself. As in, there were other contributing factors. The stress of Finnick Odair's passing, the bombing...all of those contributed as well. This is why therapy will be especially important for you."

We nod. "Now, the war?" I say.

"The war is over," says Dr. Aurelius. "After the parachutes were dropped, the rebels took the Capitol. President Snow is on trial now."

"The parachutes...who manufactured them?" It's a struggle to get the words out.

"We don't know," Dr. Aurelius replies sadly. "I'm sorry. Extensive research has been done, but...it could have been either side."

"How is Katniss?" I ask.

"Not well," he says. "I'm due to visit her after I finish speaking with you. She's taking the death of her sister quite poorly..."

"Prim died?" I whisper. Wiress wraps an arm around me and I rest my head on her shoulder.

"Yes," Dr. Aurelius says. "But you mustn't blame yourself."

"I won't," I tell him.

"I won't let him," says Wiress.

"Good," says Dr. Aurelius.

"Anything else?" I ask.

"Not that I know of," he says. He rises. "If you don't mind, someone wants to see you."

"Really?" I sit up a bit straighter.

"Yes," says Dr. Aurelius. He peers at Wiress. "In private."

"Do you mind?" I ask her.

"No," she says with a small smile. She presses her lips to my forehead and exits the room with Dr. Aurelius. After a moment, Gale replaces them.

"Hey," he says. His gray eyes take in the sight of me in the hospital bed. "I guess you aren't doing too well."

"You've looked better," I say. He wears normal clothing, but his shirt is very loose-fitting and allows me to see the bandages underneath. Every movement seems to be a challenge.

Gale sits in the chair Dr. Aurelius previously occupied, and for a while, we size each other up. "What happened to you?" I ask.

"Shot," says Gale. "You?"

"Heart attack."

"Oh." He peers around.

Suddenly, a sad realization hits me, one that I can't deny no matter how much I want to. My friendship with Gale ended the moment those parachutes detonated. Because now, we'll never be able to look at one another without wondering what destruction we may have caused together. He seems to realize it as well. Wincing a bit, Gale stands and lays a hand on my shoulder. "Take care, okay?"

"You too," I respond.

Gale leaves. It occurs to me that, in his own way, he just said goodbye, implying that our friendship is unrevivable and that we will never see each other again. I search my heart for remorse. For anger. But all I really find is relief that this one reminder of what I most want to put behind me is out of my life forevermore.

I allow myself to shed a few tears when the door is closed behind him. Then I call Wiress back in, explain what happened, and hold her as if my life depended on it. In a way, it does.

* * *

Four days after my farewell to Gale, I'm discharged from the hospital with instructions to take it easy. I'm offered a wheelchair, but there's no way I'm going there again. I insist upon walking. Wiress respects my decision, though I hear her mutter "My sweet, stubborn Beetee" under her breath.

After a few days, Wiress and I are visited by Plutarch Heavensbee. "Beetee," he says. "What a relief to see you on your feet again."

"You don't know the half of it," I remark.

"I have instructions to escort you two to the Capitol," he says.

Wiress's eyes dilate with fear. I wrap a protective arm around her waist and say, "Why?"

"President Coin has called for a meeting of the eight remaining victors," he explains.

My face pales. "Only eight?" I whisper.

"Yes," says Plutarch, sounding genuinely sorrowful. "You two, Katniss, Peeta, Annie, Johanna, Haymitch, and Enobaria."

I clench my teeth. "Enobaria will be there?"

"Yes," Plutarch says again. He beckons us forward. "Afterward, we have the execution of Snow. A hovercraft is waiting. Come on."

Hand-in-hand, Wiress and I follow him to the Airborne Division and board the hovercraft with him. The ride lasts but a few hours, but to me, it feels like decades. I imagine seeing them all again. Katniss. I know she was badly burned, as was Peeta. Poor, widowed Annie. I wonder how she's doing. Johanna, Haymitch, and Enobaria don't weigh as heavily on my mind, but it doesn't mean seeing them will be particularly easy. And, of course, Snow's execution. Must more blood be shed? Must we watch?

Suddenly, the hovercraft ride seems far too short.

Because the third floor holds too many bad memories, Wiress and I are given quarters on the first floor of the Training Center, where District 1 roomed once upon a time. Just a few hours later, we're brought to a boardroom. Peeta, Annie, Haymitch, Johanna, and Enobaria sit around a circular table. Wiress and I take seats beside Annie, keeping our hands clasped. For a while, the room is eerily silent.

"What's this?"

Katniss's voice shatters the quiet like glass. Warily, we all watch as she sits on the opposite side of Annie. "We're not sure. It appears to be a gathering of the remaining victors," Haymitch says.

"We're all that's left?" Katniss asks.

I nod sadly, squeezing Wiress's hand in comfort. "The price of celebrity. We were targeted from both sides. The Capitol killed the victors they suspected of being rebels. The rebels killed those thought to be allied with the Capitol."

"So what's _she_ doing here?" Johanna demands, glaring at Enobaria.

President Coin enters the room, closing the door behind her and taking a seat the head of the table. "She is protected under what we call the Mockingjay Deal. Wherein Katniss Everdeen agreed to support the rebels in exchange for captured victors' immunity. Katniss has upheld her side of the bargain, and so shall we."

"Don't look so smug," Johanna snaps when Enobaria smirks. "We'll kill you anyway."

Katniss settles more comfortably into her seat—the burns seem to make every movement painful, and guiltily, I look away—and places a single white rose in a glass vase on the table. Of course. She'll be the one killing Snow. The bow I made is strung across her back. One arrow decorates the quiver accompanying the bow. _How? _I find myself wondering. _How, Katniss? How can you bear to kill again? After everything?_

"I've asked you here to settle a debate," Coin explains. "Today we will execute Snow. In the previous weeks, hundreds of his accomplices in the oppression of Panem have been tried and now await their own deaths. However, the suffering in the districts has been so extreme that these measures appear insufficient to the victims. In fact, many are calling for a complete annihilation of those who held Capitol citizenship. However, in the interest of maintaining a sustainable population, we cannot afford this." She pauses to take a breath. "So, an alternative has been placed on the table. Since my colleagues and I can come to no consensus, it has been agreed that we will let the victors decide. A majority of four will approve the plan. No one may abstain from the vote. What has been proposed is that in lieu of eliminating the entire Capitol population, we have a final, symbolic Hunger Games, using the children directly related to those who held the most power."

Shocked, all eight of us turn to her. "What?" says Johanna.

"We hold another Hunger Games using Capitol children," Coin reiterates.

"Are you joking?" asks Peeta.

"No. I should also tell you that if we do hold the Games, it will be known it was done with your approval, although the individual breakdown of your votes will be kept secret for your own security," Coin tells us.

"Was this Plutarch's idea?" asks Haymitch.

"It was mine," says Coin. "It seemed to balance the need for vengeance with the least loss of life. You may cast your votes."

"No! I vote no, of course!" Peeta declares. "We can't have another Hunger Games!"

"Why not?" Johanna retorts. "It seems very fair to me. Snow even has a granddaughter. I vote yes."

"So do I. Let them have a taste of their own medicine," Enobaria seconds.

This is why we rebelled!" Peeta cries indignantly. "Remember? Annie?"

"I vote no with Peeta," she says. "So would Finnick if he were here."

"But he isn't, because Snow's mutts killed him," Johanna reminds her.

I shoot her a look as Annie winces. "No. It would set a bad precedent," I say. "We have to stop viewing one another as enemies. At this point, unity is essential for our survival. No." I squeeze Wiress's hand. "Wiress?"

She tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "No, of course," she says to the table. She looks slowly from Johanna to Enobaria. "Hypocrites," she whispers woefully.

"Settle down," Coin says when both women seem prepared to strike Wiress. "We're down to Katniss and Haymitch. Your votes, please?"

To the rose, Katniss says, "I vote yes...for Prim."

"Haymitch?" asks Coin.

"If he says yes, we're at a stalemate," I say.

"Not necessarily," Coin says.

"Four and four?" Wiress asks, confused.

"If we come to the event of a stalemate," Coin tells us, "then my own vote will be taken into account. But only in that incident."

"You aren't a victor," Johanna says in disbelief.

Coin doesn't comment. "Haymitch? Your vote?"

"I'm with the Mockingjay," says Haymitch simply.

"Alright," says Coin. She stands. "Now we really must take our places for the execution."

"What about..."

"Your vote?" I finish for Wiress.

She ignores us. As she passes Katniss, Katniss gives her the rose. "Can you see that Snow's wearing this? Just over his heart?"

Coin smiles. "Of course. And I'll make sure he knows about the Games."

Of course her vote was yes.

"Thank you," says Katniss.

Wiress presses herself against my side as the Mockingjay leaves. I barely catch Wiress's words, but I do. "Oh, Katniss," Wiress breathes, "why are you letting her do this to you?"

* * *

**One of the reasons I haven't updated this in so long is that I've been trying to think of a way around the votes. With the added victor (Wiress) who would of course say no, I had to think of a way to make the consensus yes. Did I do a good job? Leave a review and I'll update ASAP!**

**Hugs,**

**Landshark! :)**


	26. Chapter 26

**Last chapter! :) I decided not to do an epilogue and included everything in here. Enjoy!**

**Hugs,**

**Landshark**

* * *

"Wiress, love, you don't have to watch this."

"I want to."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," she insists. Her voice is persistent, stubborn, even, but her body trembles of its own accord, and not from the cold. I envelope her in an embrace as Katniss appears, bow in hand. Shortly after, Snow is marched out of his mansion. The roar of the crowd is deafening. In any other setting, Wiress would be curled in a protective ball, her hands clamped over her ears, but now, she stares straight ahead, watching as Katniss loads her bow.

Something hits me. I recognize that look in Wiress's eye. The look she has whenever she senses something. Whenever her intuition kicks in. "Wiress," I murmur, "what's happening?"

"Watch" is her quiet response.

I obey just in time to see Katniss release her bowstring. The arrow flies into Coin's temple and sends her plummeting from the balcony, clearly dead.

"Never would she take a life without purpose," Wiress says simply.

Confused, I allow Wiress to lead me through the charging crowd. In her characteristic half-sentences, Wiress explains to me what she means. How she knew Katniss would shoot Coin the moment Coin presented the Capitol children Games idea. Whether or not Katniss knew it herself, Wiress knew from that moment that Coin would be her victim. She informs me of how Coin was planning to become the new dictator of Panem. How she tried to sway Katniss by sending her sister into the war and using the bombs Gale and I made to kill Prim and the medics, also succeeding in getting everyone on her side. Coin was brilliant. Her one flaw was her lust for power.

"And people call _me _crazy," Wiress concludes with a roll of her eyes.

If the situation weren't so dire, I'd laugh.

Wiress and I ask to return to 3, but Plutarch requests that we speak at Katniss's trial. We do, of course, telling how good a person Katniss is. Wiress presents her theory on her own. The crowd from 13 seems to pass her off as a lunatic, but those speaking in Katniss's defense regard her differently. I realize it when Johanna mutters, "Way to go, Wiress." She has outgrown the nickname _Nuts_. Her peers finally realize that Wiress is nothing short of brilliant.

_It's about time_, I think as I wrap an arm around her shoulders.

Katniss is exonerated, of course, though she's confined to District 12 until further notice. She will continue care under Dr. Aurelius via telephone, as will Wiress and I. Finally, we're allowed to return home. I promise Plutarch that, after Wiress and I get settled, we'll invite him here so that we can update the technology on the broadcast system. As secretary of communications, this would help him greatly. He happily nods and hugs us both before departing. "Such a nice man," Wiress muses as his hovercraft takes off into the clouds. "A bit ditzy, but nice."

District 3 is remarkably unchanged when Wiress and I meander through it. Infrastructure has been damaged, but crews of citizens are repairing and rebuilding as we watch. They know us both by name. At first, I worry that they think we ran away when we escaped from the arena. But that's proven false soon enough. They know what we did in 13. For the most part, we're treated like returning veterans. Our privacy is respected, though, and aside from the occasional handshake and exchange of greeting with passers-by, Wiress and I are permitted to explore our homeland unbothered.

"Nothing like good ol' District Three folk to remind me that not all humans are imbeciles," I say happily.

"You said it." Wiress cranes her head to kiss my cheek.

Purposely, we left what few belongings we had in 13 on the doorstep to my home and didn't open the door until we'd seen the rest of 3. Taking a breath, I unlock the door and lead Wiress inside.

It's as if we stepped back in time to the day before the reaping. Nothing is changed. For a moment, we simply stare inside, wondering how it's so untouched by the disasters of late.

"The same," Wiress murmurs, running her fingers over the blanket draped over the back of my sofa.

I join her. "But _we _aren't the same," I say, slipping an arm around her waist and resting my hand on hers.

She turns back to look at me with a smile. "Changed for the better," she replies, leaning in to give me a kiss.

Wiress doesn't ask if she can move in with me. She simply begins toting her belongings into my house, shooting me an are-you-going-to-help-me-or-not? look when I regard her in askance. Chuckling at her whimsy, I do so. When her house is barren, we spend the day cleaning it up. This and the other ten houses previously barred to non-victors go up for sale. By the time the last one is sold, Wiress crosses off Day 42 on her calendar. She's been keeping it ever since my last visit with Dr. Aurelius, when he said that, for safety's sake, Wiress and I wait six weeks before we make love again. I have to convince her that I'm not as fragile as she thinks, and finally, we spend the night tangled together in our bed. Afterward, when I nuzzle her neck, she smells of lilac and salt and love. _Lovers reunited_, I think happily.

As Wiress drifts to sleep, it comes to me. What's stopping us from being more than lovers? Snow is dead. There is no one who wishes to cause us harm. If we were to marry, no one would use that to hold one of us against the other.

We sleep late the next morning. At nine o'clock, I whisper in Wiress's ear, "I'll be back in a bit" before dressing silently and leaving. Soon enough, I find what I need. The ring is silver and decorated with two small golden stones. Perfect. The ring box is maroon and lined with black velvet. It's small enough to fit in my pocket. Heart pounding, I return home and find Wiress making breakfast for the two of us. "Over easy or scrambled?" she asks with a grin.

I roll my eyes kiss her cheek. "You're making cereal," I point out.

"So? Didn't forget, did I?" Still grinning, she lightly taps her hip against mine. The small collision makes the ring box jostle in my pocket, and my face turns red. Should I do it now? No, not now. I should do it in the workshop, where we make our inventions. The door hasn't been opened since we returned; Wiress insisted that we make love first. I agreed wholeheartedly. It's as good a place as any to propose.

After we eat, I lead Wiress into the workshop. She immediately begins running her small fingers over every surface, amazed. I follow her, the ring box now clasped tightly in my hand. I have never been more nervous in my entire life. "Wiress, dear?" I ask. She turns to me, beaming. "Can I ask you something?"

"Mm-hm," she says. "What?"

_Here goes_..._well, pretty much everything_.

"Will you marry me?"

As I kneel before her, opened ring box in one hand, Wiress's small fingers in the other, watching her lovely face from below, it occurs to me that, for the first time ever, I have absolutely no idea what she's going to say.

So when Wiress finally gives me an answer, I'm blown out of the water.

* * *

The wedding is small and simple, even frugal. Plutarch insists that he could make the event as spectacular as we want it, but Wiress and I tell him we only want what every District 3 couple has. Grudgingly, Plutarch makes do.

Perhaps it _is _a bit different from the average District 3 wedding in some ways. I doubt most couples have guests that come from all over Panem. Cressida, Pollux, and Plutarch come from the Capitol; Annie comes from 4; Johanna comes from 7; Dalton comes from 10; Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch come from 12; Dr. Aurelius comes from 13. Despite their ethnic differences, our ten guests get along nicely. Sure, Haymitch drinks at least half of the liquor within the first twenty minutes and is too intoxicated to hold a proper conversation, but other than that, everything goes very well.

We hold it in my backyard. I kneel at the makeshift altar, double-knotting my shoes to assure that I don't trip over the laces, when Johanna approaches. I'm surprised that she came to the wedding; I only invited her because Wiress said it would be rude not to, to be honest. She lays a hand on my shoulder, smirks, and says, "I hope you break a leg."

Outraged, I stand and am about to finally let her have it when Johanna laughs, holding up a hand to stay me. "Beetee, it means good luck," she explains, still laughing. She returns to her seat next to Annie, and only then do I realize that, for the first time, Johanna actually called me by my real name.

Despite Plutarch's insistence that it's traditional, Wiress refuses to wear white to the wedding. She tells me it reminds her too much of the white roses Snow always wore in his lapel. Instead, Wiress wears blue. Sky blue. With some of the factories closed down, the sky in 3 is slowly turning back to that color. Wiress's wedding dress—strapless and pale blue, with a sparkly, beaded bodice, a band beneath her breasts, and a long, pleated chiffon skirt—reminds me that one day, the sky will be completely blue again, a metaphor that, no matter how bad things may seem, life will one day be wonderful again.

Wiress's dress isn't the only one with symbolism. Katniss wears a simple yellow one the color of a dandelion. I think it's to represent Peeta, who, of course, made and decorated the wedding cake. It consists of four white hexagonal tiers painted with dark blue flowers; real yellow daisies are placed around it and between the tiers. Peeta shows us a few clumsily sketched flowers on the back and tells us in a dramatic whisper that Katniss tried to help. She hears, of course, and to my delight, Katniss actually laughs and rolls her eyes. Then she asks us to take a few pictures for a scrapbook she's making. We pose as she directs, and although Katniss then drifts off toward Haymitch to stare into the punch bowl, I know that, with Peeta's help, she'll one day be happy again.

Annie is the only woman not wearing a dress; instead, she wears a white blouse and a long, floral-printed skirt. At seven months pregnant, only maternity clothes fit her. Dr. Aurelius appears and informs us that Annie and Finnick's child is a boy, and, if all goes well, he ought to be born on the summer solstice. "Longest day of the year," comments Wiress.

"Finnick will make it the best, too," Annie replies, smiling and rubbing her belly. She then asks Wiress and I if we want to be the godparents to her child. Of course we agree. Our honeymoon will be in 4, and despite Johanna's insistence that we may be too busy, we promise to visit.

For a while, though, our time in District 4 will be our own.

"Did you know that I love you?" I murmur in Wiress's ear. Her shoes were discarded on the floor hours ago, and her legs rest in my lap. She giggles and brushes her hair, now touching her shoulders, behind her ears before leaning against my chest, her ear pressed against my heart. I trace a line from her temple to her bare shoulder; I'd love nothing more than to help her out of her dress now, along with the rest of her clothing, but Wiress insists that we wait until we reach District 4. Besides, Annie is in the next train car, and I doubt she would want to hear. Talking with Wiress certainly takes up enough time, and soon, we're strolling hand-in-hand to the small house Annie helped reserve for our honeymoon.

"Little cabin by the sea," Wiress sings.

Our luggage is abandoned by the sofa. The rest of our clothing soon follows. Inhaling, I realize that Wiress's sweet scent is mixed with the smells of daisies, saltwater, and incense. It occurs to me that Annie probably decorated the bedroom especially for us, but, although it seems rude to ignore her efforts so blatantly, Wiress and I just aren't going to make it that far. For now, the couch will serve as good a purpose as the bed would; besides, we'll have plenty of time to change location later.

Afterward, Wiress snuggles against me, her back pressed against my chest. I wrap the blanket thrown over the sofa around us both and bury my lips in her hair. "We should christen every room in this house," I murmur.

Wiress laughs quietly. "Maybe," she teases.

"Annie is a saint," I say, peering around.

"Mm-hm." Wiress closes her eyes with a smile. "Baby."

"Won't that be nice? Helping Annie care for her baby?" I agree.

"No," she says.

I blink. "You don't want to help Annie care for the baby?"

"Yes, I do. Not what I mean," says Wiress. She takes my hand and spreads it across her stomach. Her waist is so narrow that my handspan covers it almost completely. "Baby," she says again. The look in her eyes tells me that I'm missing something very simple.

Finally, I realize what she means. I sit up, startled, shocked, delighted. "Wiress, are you pregnant?"

Her tinkling laugh is her answer.

**The End**

* * *

**:) Happy ending! Yay! I hope you enjoyed _From Under My Feet_. How about a final review before I hit the Complete button?**

**Hugs,**

**Wendy**


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